


Cake

by amybeegood



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Metric Shit-ton of Angst, Anal Sex, And Hate-sex, Blood and Gore (non-sex-related), Choking, Darkfic, Definitely Hate-sex, Delusions, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Gaslighting, Gunplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Mental Coercion, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Paranoia, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Thriller, Public Masturbation, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Stalking, Suicidal Thoughts, TRUST NO ONE, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unreliable Narrator, Unsafe Sex, Violence/Threats of Violence, You will be utterly confused until the last possible minute, elements of BDSM, mention of underage abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-10-12 01:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 59,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amybeegood/pseuds/amybeegood
Summary: Rey’s student visa is nearly expired. She hooks up with a guy she met online. The guy is not all that nice. Not who she expects, you know? But turns out...neither is she...Ben is one of the wealthiest people on the planet. So why is he so obsessed with a little nobody from nowhere?Cake PlaylistAccording to Urban Dictionary:"Eat Cake" means to eat pussy"Cakes for Days" means a perfect, round ass; "Cake" is also slang for a good ass"Caking" is flirting"To Cake" someone is to buy them anything they want"Moist Cake" means to be turned on





	1. Cake

**Author's Note:**

> I’m telling you right now, things are going to get twisted. Sick and twisted. Please carefully read the tags. If you do not like any of the above subjects, do yourself a favor and DON’T READ. TAGS MAY BE UPDATED as needed. It is UP TO YOU to check them.
> 
> This is not a fluffy fic. This is not a nice fic. This is not like my other fics. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.
> 
> I apologize for nothing. 
> 
> That being said...enjoy your Cake...

# Chapter One – Cake

**_So. Where’s the kinkiest place you’ve ever done it, Rey?_ **

I stare at my computer screen for several minutes while I consider how best to answer that question. Not because I’m embarrassed. But because I’m rifling through my sexual history trying to figure out the most shocking thing.

I mean. I’ve done plenty of _stuff_. I just… I just really want to wind this guy up, okay?

I know. I’m a tease. Sue me.

Finally, I come up with an answer.

_On a Greyhound bus. With a stranger. No condom._

_How about you?_

I wait a few minutes for him to reply and wonder if I’ve turned him off. Not everyone is into unsafe sex. In public. With strangers.

**_How about I show you, instead of telling you?_ **

And this is it. What I’m waiting for. An invitation to meet up with this guy I’ve been chatting with for weeks, now.

My knee-jerk reaction is _fuck, no, this is just a fantasy, creep_. I’m just here to get my kicks while I wait for my student visa to expire before I’m booted back to England.

I met him through an online dating site, and I immediately liked his profile picture. He says his name is Ben, and it suits him. Clean-cut, dark hair, dark eyes, very sexy. His mouth is gorgeous. Full, red lips that look like they exist for the sole purpose of eating pussy.

Oh, crap. I’m getting wet just looking at his damn picture.

His profile lists him as 6’3 and knowing how guys exaggerate, I figure he’s at least six feet tall.

Which is tall enough.

He hasn’t posted any pics of his body, but his shoulders fill out his headshot quite nicely.

I like ‘em on the big side. Definitely.

My second reaction is a slight tinge of disloyalty to the _other_ guy I’ve been chatting with through a totally different site...

What can I say? I’m a horny girl who wants to have her cake and eat it, too.

**_I’m waiting, Rey…_ **

Shit. Ben is waiting. He wants to hook up with me and I really want to hook up with him.

And we share a very particular interest. Sex in public is kind of a turn-on for me. Him, too, apparently. Hence the question… _How about I show you, instead of telling you?_

My sense of disloyalty is fading fast. I tell myself the feeling makes no sense whatsoever, since I’ve never met either of these guys in person. I don’t owe them a goddamned thing.

Ugh. Should I? I take a deep breath. Yes. I should. I recklessly agree to meet Ben the following Saturday at Oktoberfest two states away.

I can take the bus or hitchhike most of the way there, I figure.

I log off my computer wondering about the other guy. Kylo. We haven’t chatted for a few weeks…

I hear a "ding" and I realize he’s just now sent me a message via the app on my phone.

Weird. I was just thinking about him…

**Kylo: Hey, baby.**

**Kylo: How’s your sweet little cunt today?**

**Kylo: You miss me?**

Playing on _this_ site is by far the dirtiest, filthiest thing I’ve ever done. Online dating with Ben is one thing. Other than chatting, we keep our identities neutral – one headshot on the profile page, and communication strictly limited to chat. Most of our conversations revolve around what we’ve done and what turns us on and fantasies and such.

My interactions with Kylo are decidedly more… _visual_ … Although we don't share pics of our faces, body pics only. And pretty much anything goes.

He doesn’t even know my name. He usually just calls me his little slut or some variation of that. Don't ask me why that's a turn-on. But for some reason, coming from Kylo, it is. 

_Me: Kylo. Haven’t heard from you for a while._

_Me: Gonna be busy for a few days._

**Kylo: Doing what?**

He’s nosy. He always wants me to tell him where I am and what I’m up to. I decide to punish him for not messaging me for a while.

_Me: I’m going out of town. For a hook up._

**Kylo: Fuck. You better not let him fuck your ass.**

**Kylo: That’s MY hole, baby.**

**Kylo: We’ve talked about this.**

_Me: Nothing you can do about it, stud._

_Me: I need to get laid. And not by you._

That should piss him off. I smirk. I can’t help it. I feel powerful. It’s awesome. I always get such a rise out of this guy.

**Kylo: I want to fuck you in the ass, you little slut. When are you going to let me?**

**Kylo: You’d be so fucking tight around my cock…**

_Fuck._ Just this is making me clench. And I’m already heated up from my conversation with Ben…

**Kylo: At least give me something to think about while you’re “busy” then.**

Kylo is quite a bit more forthcoming than Ben. Demanding, even.

I feel a bit depraved as I open the camera on my phone and bend myself over the couch of my tiny studio apartment.

I snap a picture of my ass, stuck high in the air, covered only by the thin strap of my G-string.

It’s a bit of a reach to get a decent angle…I snap a picture and look at it. Nah. That one is blurry. Kylo will just hound me over it if I send him something substandard...

I take another one and send it to him. Better.

_Me: Here you go, babe._

_Me: That’s all you’re gonna get from me for a while, so enjoy._

_Me: Now go stroke that massive cock of yours and show me how much you cum._

I sit back and wait. This is not the first time I’ve done this. I’ve been teasing this poor fucking guy for months… Lately he’s been insisting we meet up. I’ve managed to hold him off. I get the feeling Kylo doesn’t like me pushing him around, even though he always does exactly what I tell him.

He’s never sent me a picture of his face, but his body…oh, fuck, his body is good. Like.  _Fantastic_.

I can tell he’s big – big hands, thick fingers – and he has dark hair. The line that trails from his abs to his groin is dark, at least. I can draw my own conclusions the hair on his head is probably the same color...

He’s got these massive, sculpted pecs and arms the size of pythons…and his package? It’s fucking huge.

I love it when he sends me pictures of his dick…

**Kylo: You’re such a fucking cocktease.**

**Kylo: If I ever get my hands on you…**

I’m not worried. The anonymity of what we’ve been doing is assured. He knows _nothing_ about me. Which is why I love to tease the fuck out of him.

**Kylo: …someday I’m going to make you pay for messing with me, you know that?**

I laugh out loud, giddy, and horny as hell. I slide my hand under the now-damp, silky fabric of my panties and start stroking my clit, dipping my finger into my slippery-wet pussy and rubbing it around until I feel the familiar sensation of tight, hot pleasure start to take hold.

Right before I come, my phone pings an alert. Well that was quick.

**Kylo: <image attached>**

I open the picture and stare at the milky cum streaking over Kylo’s perfect torso…There’s a _lot_.

It’s definitely enough to get me off just looking at it. I wonder what it feels like to have so much cum filling me up, hot and dripping down my thighs. I work my clit with one hand and fuck myself with three fingers of the other and imagine Ben’s face on Kylo’s body as he thrusts into me. Hard.

Kylo sends me another message right as I spasm around my own fingers, grunting like an animal. He’s probably wondering if I liked his picture…

I don’t bother to thank him. Or acknowledge him at all. That’s part of the fun of teasing the poor bastard.

I lay there panting in the aftermath of my orgasm, sweaty and still frustratingly unfulfilled.

I need some actual dick. Attached to an actual _man_.

Saturday can’t get here soon enough.

 

It takes me two days to hitchhike to Vermont, and when I get there, I use a few dollars of my rapidly-dwindling cash to check in at the local YMCA for a hot shower.

I’ve already researched youth hostels and found one that looks decent; it’s about what I expected, and definitely not the worst place I’ve ever stayed.

I am a bundle of nerves thinking about tomorrow. Meeting up with some random dude I met online is about the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

I’m pretty sure it will be fine, since we will be in a public place and he has no idea where I live or who I am.

What’s the worst that can happen?

I fall asleep to the sounds of my bunkmates’ snoring, glad to not be dozing in the noisy, jolting passenger seat of a big rig truck.

My cell phone dings, and I hurry to turn off the volume before it wakes anyone.

Kylo has messaged me via our online app…

**Kylo: I know you said you’re “busy”**

**Kylo: but I want you to know I’m thinking about you**

**Kylo: the way you stuck your ass in the air…**

**Kylo: and took a picture just for me…**

**Kylo: …I know you want it filled to the brim with my hot, sticky cum**

**Kylo: I cannot wait**

**Kylo: to put my fucking hands on you.**

A lurch of fear and desire mingles in my belly nearly making me gasp out loud as I re-read his words.

I’m not afraid he’s actually _here_ …that would be impossible. But maybe I’ve been pushing him a tad too hard and he sounds kinda fucking scary.

Plus, that last message comes across as so confident... Like it’s only a matter of time before he _sees_ me. Not a fucking chance. Maybe this guy is a bit psycho and I should cool things down for a while.

I turn off my phone entirely and try to fall back asleep.

 

The next day dawns bright and clear and I am eager to get to the town’s Oktoberfest, so I can scope out a potential spot to hook up with Ben. It’s a half-mile walk from the hostel to the festival grounds, and I enjoy the brisk morning air and the sunlight filtering through the brightly-colored leaves.

It’s pretty here. Even the hostel was pretty nice – the bathrooms were fairly clean, and I was able to brush my teeth and throw on some mascara before I left.

Ben’s seen my profile picture, and he insists I’m a natural beauty whether I’m wearing makeup or not. I don’t know if that is really true, but he swears external, material shit doesn’t matter to him, so I refuse to feel self-conscious that I’m wearing threadbare jeans and a thin t-shirt under my university hoodie.

It’s not like I can’t just turn around and leave if we don’t like each other. Right?

I turn on my phone to show my e-ticket at the gate, notice a dozen or so messages from Kylo, and decide to read them later… If Ben isn’t everything I’ve been expecting, I will need something to ease my disappointment. And Kylo never disappoints.

The woman checking my ticket hands me three wooden tokens, which can be exchanged for beers at the beer garden.

I’m super-early, but I don’t have anything else to do. I walk past a tent filled with kegs and people dressed in lederhosen. I hand someone a token and she pours me a plastic cup full of nutty brown beer. She tries to tell me about it, but I smile and turn away.

I just want the beer. I don’t care about the hops and the brewing process and the other bullshit. I am here for one thing and one thing only.

_Where is he?_

Vague folk music begins streaming across the festival grounds. I am definitely feeling anticipation.

I wonder what Ben is like in real life.

I turn off my phone to save the battery, since I’m not sure when I’ll get to charge it again and resist the urge to peek at Kylo’s texts. He’ll be furious with me for not replying to him.

Good. Let him stew in his sick, perverted juices for a while...

I heft my backpack over my shoulder and head to the northwest corner of the beer garden, where Ben agreed to meet me.

People are already milling about, even though the festival just opened five minutes ago.

A tingle brushes down my spine as I spot a familiar set of shoulders at a table ten feet away.

Raven hair, thick and slightly curling. Shoulders a mile wide. Heavily muscled arms under a gray Henley…he looks very familiar…and even seated, he is easily 6’3.

Oh, _yum_.

I’m nervous, but I approach without hesitation. He’s on the phone. His voice is gorgeous and deep. Sexy.

Yes. This is him.

His hands…look familiar somehow, and I wonder why.

But my attention is fully arrested as we make eye contact.

His profile picture has not done any justice whatsoever to those amber eyes of his. The sunlight hits them just right as he squints up at me from his seat. God, he's fucking sexy. 

A soft smile curves over those luscious lips of his and my belly pools with liquid heat.

He says my name.

I plop down into the seat across from him, too stunned to notice he’s still getting off the phone.

“Much better than I was expecting…See you later…”

It’s none of my business who he is talking to, but he hangs up, so I don't care. The evaluative way his eyes flicker over me leaves no doubt about his intentions.

He licks his lips as he hangs up his phone and sets it quite deliberately on the table in front of him.

I have to bite my own lips to hold back a moan. His mouth looks fucking _delicious_.

“So. You certainly are a pretty thing in person…” he murmurs. He doesn’t introduce himself. He seems to expect that I know exactly who he is, and is assured I am who I say I am.

We’ve been talking for weeks online, so we’ve known each other for a little while. Technically.

I am tongue-tied. Frozen in place by the assessing gleam in his eyes.

“You ever do anything like this before, sweetheart?” he asks quietly. His voice strokes over me like warm velvet and I feel myself getting wet between my thighs.

I shake my head, taking in his overpowering presence eagerly. There is something compelling about him. Hypnotic.

I sip my beer and try to calm the fuck down. But, damn. I’m horny.

Oddly, Kylo’s words stutter against the back of my mind. _I cannot wait to put my fucking hands on you._

Ben watches me, and I feel like my every move is being catalogued and saved so he can review it later.

“Um. So…?” I try to ask how this works, but he stands up and grabs my hand.

He’s so tall. Oh, wow. He’s massive…

I’m not tiny, but standing next to him, I feel pretty small. This guy could break me in half if he wanted to.

“Come on,” he grunts, towing me along in the wake of his long-legged strides. “I’m already hard. And you look _way_ too eager for it…”

I _am_ eager for it.

He drags me to a line of plastic, blue portable toilets - Sanicans, I think they are called? - at the edge of the festival grounds. Nobody’s around, but as festival-goers start drinking beer, they will be soon enough.

I wonder vaguely if anyone is watching. Because if they are, they are going to see this very large man practically hauling me to the Sanican at the end of the row and step inside before pulling me in after him.

A little chart on the wall over the tiny urinal says the thing was just inspected and cleaned twenty minutes ago.

It smells acrid, like antiseptic and bleach.

The lid over the toilet is down. There is a tiny little urinal cake stuck to the side of the plastic urinal in the wall. Thankfully it looks dry.

I am mildly grossed out but not enough to insist on doing this somewhere else.

Because Ben is yanking his shirt from his jeans and already halfway unbuckled, crammed against the locked door, with me smooshed in there next to him.

He roughly maneuvers me around and braces my hands on the plastic wall over the toilet.

“A filthy girl like you deserves to get fucked in a filthy place like this, don’t you think?” he growls hotly against my neck.

There is no room to move and I feel him sweep his foot between mine, pushing them apart so my legs are slightly spread.

“What?” I gasp. Since when have I ever been filthy with _Ben?_

I mean…maybe a little filthy.

He doesn’t answer, exactly. I mean he kind of does, if unbuttoning my jeans and ripping them down my legs counts as an answer. How he is managing to move at all in this tiny space is a miracle I will have to think about later.

I’m forced to lean over a bit, braced against the wall.

I’m not wearing underwear.

He notices and grunts as he sweeps a hand the size of a fucking dinner plate around my naked hip, groping between my legs without prelude.

I’m already wet and I groan as his middle finger spears into me.

“What kind of a dirty little whore lets herself get fucked in a fucking public toilet?” He growls and thrusts his finger in me again. I cry out at the pleasure of it and he yanks my hair back. Hard.

“Shut the fuck up, Rey. Someone’s going to hear us.”

My mind tries to process the sensation of his huge warm body hovering behind mine, his hand dragging over my clit and swiping into my pussy…this is just so…so _not_ what I expected from Ben.

He sounds so… _aggressive_ …

He rubs my clit and another moan escapes unbidden from my lips.

The hand pulling my hair back lets go and wraps over my jaw before clamping down over my mouth.

“Fuck. I said shut up. Am I going to have to fucking gag you? Is that what you want?” Maybe. That sounds kind of interesting, actually.

His hand moves away from between my legs and I feel him fumbling behind me. I feel a warm hardness and push my hips against it, all too eager to get that cock inside me.

“Oh, you want this, don’t you?” he taunts, stroking the head of his erection down the crack of my ass before teasing it against the lips of my pussy.

I nod in agreement and moan into his hand.

I might be drooling a little.

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid.

“Stick your ass out for me, baby. Show me what you’ve got…”

Okay. So Ben has never called me baby before…but what the hell. It's sexy. It reminds me of...

I want his cock, so I lift my hips as best as I can, leaning a bit so my forearms are holding me up against the wall over the toilet. I'm trying not to touch anything.

“Already dripping wet for it, aren’t you?” His hand is clamped over my mouth like a vice and I'm breathing through my nose, trying not to think about where we actually fucking _are_. 

_This is so fucking disgusting_ , I tell myself, right before I feel Ben’s dick slide between my legs.

_Ohhhhh. Fuck. Nevermind. This is amazing._

The head of him is thick and hot and the stretch is almost too much, pushing into me like that.

I groan into his hand and he sinks home, all the way.

I can’t help but clench around him as he pulls out for another stroke.

“Fuuuuuccck,” he hisses behind me. “Oh, fuck, baby, this is one sweet little cunt…”

He rams into me with a wet slap, pushing his hips flush against my butt this time, and I almost choke on how good it feels.

“You like that, don’t you?” he grunts. “Mmmmm… _fuck_ …”

I keep my hips cocked up for him and try to stay braced in position, so he can fuck into me as hard as he wants.

His low-voiced murmurs echo through the plastic shell of the Sanican. It sends tingles down my spine straight into my womb. I whine against the fingers digging into my face, wordlessly begging for more.

I am positive anyone within a twenty-foot radius can hear us. I literally do not fucking care.

His hand moves away from my mouth and pushes under my t-shirt to squeeze my breasts, one after the other.

“Hot damn, your nipples are so fucking hard, baby…”

Speaking of hard. Can we just talk about his dick for a minute?

Because, shit, I have never felt anything – _anything_ – quite like this before…the only guy I’ve even _seen_ this well-hung is Kylo…actually, between Ben and Kylo it might be a bit of a tie…

But I’ve never fucked Kylo before…

And Ben. He is absolutely _pummeling_ me now... I can feel the tension moving up and down my legs, swirling through my thighs and belly, and I know I’m close… I start making these pathetic little noises, and I can’t help it, okay?

Ben tells me to shut the fuck up again and starts rubbing my clit…

I try to be quiet, but the feeling of his sweaty hips bumping against my butt and his balls slapping against me and his glorious, huge fucking dick pounding into me…not to mention the noises he is making, these harsh, gravelly beastlike grunts and hums…those sexy sounds are vibrating right into me and I want _more_ …

I can feel myself clenching around him, gripping at him, chasing what might be the best orgasm I’ll ever have in my life.

“Yes!” I pant, not giving a shit how loud it is because _this_ is what I need right now, to feel his hot, hard length hitting as deep as it can go, driving into me with the sure force of a fucking jackhammer.

I can feel myself starting to let go, spasming wildly around him, drenching his dick with my juices as he mutters, “Oh yeah, oh yeah, fuck yeah, baby…come all over this cock…”

He doesn’t stop rubbing at my clit until I’m completely done, then he pulls out and shoves his fingers into me, scooping out the sticky-slippery evidence of my orgasm, gathering it on his fingers, as much as he can get.

He smears his fingers up the crease of my ass and works one inside. I’m surprised at how good it feels, but I briefly remember Kylo telling me that hole is _his_ and I shouldn’t…

“I’m gonna come in your ass, now, Rey, just like I told you I would…” My brain tries to register when Ben ever said _that_ …but it my mind isn’t functioning all that well, as I feel him work a second finger inside and my body tenses at the intrusion.

“Relax, baby. You’re nice and wet…you got my dick all slicked up just now…”

He’s pushing into me and groaning and babbling nonsense words like “so good, so fucking tight, just like I fucking knew it would be” and sliding in so slowly, but so _inevitably_ and I’m trying to relax, but Kylo is going to be _fucking pissed_ about this, so I’ll just have to never tell him…

Ben slides out again and reaches around to push his fingers into me, stroking my clit with his thumb while he fucks my ass. His other hand grips my hip so hard I know I’m going to have marks there. I feel his hot breath on the back of my neck and teeth scraping at my skin.

Shit. This is…incredible. I feel another orgasm building and he chuckles roughly.

“Oh, you little slut…I knew you’d like it in the ass…”

_Little slut. What?_

“What the hell did you just call me?” I snarl over my shoulder.

“Shut up. You like it and you know it,” he grunts, slapping me hard on the butt and moaning as the shock of pain forces me to clench on him.

I do like it. I fucking _love_ it.

So I tell him to do it again.

He does. He does it until my eyes roll back into my head and I'm squirming and meeting his thrusts like the eager little slut he just said I am.

I’m so full of him, and his dick and his fingers are thrusting and pushing and stretching me, and my second orgasm hits me so unexpectedly all I can do is shudder and whimper as he lets out a strangled groan and empties himself into me in rough spurts, his huge body quaking over mine, out of control as he gives me a few final pumps...

My legs are trembling now, and I lean on my forearms to catch my breath. _Dammit_. That was un-fucking-believable…

But, I'm coming down from the high of pleasure, and _shit_... Realization hits me.

Frantic, I try to shuffle into a different position, but Ben’s arms are gripping me like bands of steel and I can’t move. I feel him slide out of me, a hot sticky mess trickling down my ass and thighs.

I turn my head to glare over my shoulder and demand he let me up, but my words catch in my throat.

Familiar. This body looks _very_ familiar.

It takes a minute for everything to click into place.

Kylo’s body. And the face.

The face belongs to Ben.

He’s smirking at me like the devil himself as he adjusts his jeans and tucks his shirt in.

“I told you I couldn’t wait to get my hands on you, baby,” he says arrogantly before pulling me up and kissing the breath out of me. “Now let’s get out of this fucking Sanican before we catch Hepatitis or something.”

Exasperated, I let out the breath I’ve been holding in one long huff.

“Okay, fine. But am I supposed to call you Ben? Or Kylo?”


	2. One Serving Is Enough For Now

# Chapter Two – One Serving Is Enough For Now

 

He lifts an eyebrow at my question and replies, “Call me Ben.”

Okay, then. Ben it is.

I lean down to pull up my jeans and he pushes his hand onto my back, holding me down. Let’s just say he’s basically straddling me, because there is no _fucking_ room in this stupid plastic toilet hell, and I’m already feeling kind of put-out because of the whole Ben-is-Kylo thing. This piece of shit _tricked_ me and now he won’t let me up.

_I wonder if I should scream?_

I don’t know why, but this guy is giving me just a tiny bit of a _vibe_ …I can’t quite figure it out until I hear this little electronic _click_.

Like a camera click.

 _Mother. Fucker. He did_ not _just take a picture of me._

He moves his hand away from my back and I shimmy my pants over my hips while I can. I stand up, crammed next to him, and he wraps one of those python-like arms around my chest, pulling me close. I can feel his silky-soft hair brush against my face as he ducks his head into the crook of my neck.

Chills. Chills trickle down my spine like ice-water.

I’m about ready to head-butt him and break the jerk’s nose when he chuckles and murmurs hotly into my ear, “Selfie, time. Say cheese.”

And then, he snaps a picture of us with this dorky-ass grin on his face and lets me go.

_What a fucking weirdo._

I zip my jeans and button them, throwing an elbow into his midsection before I hop out of the toilet on slightly shaky legs.

Unsure of what to do - like, he _lied_ about his name and he _just_ snapped a photo of me, which is totally uncool...but he also made me come so hard my legs still aren't working right - I march back to our table, where our beers are still waiting for us. They look like they haven’t been touched and I mentally try to calculate how long it took for him to fuck me just now. 

Ben follows, hot on my heels. I don’t turn around to see if he’s there, but I can _feel_ him behind me, this big, agitated _wall_ of a man.  He didn't like being elbowed in the gut, I'm sure. _Too bad._

Before I can sit in my original seat, he takes my spot and drags me into his lap. Once again, he wraps a beefy arm around me, around my waist this time, and clutches me there.

These chairs aren’t the sturdiest, but the one we are in seems to hold. 

If I try to struggle or move too much, I’ll make a huge scene. The beer garden is filling up with people. Nice-looking, average people who have no idea what just happened right in their midst. In a Sanican twenty yards away.

“Ben. Let me up,” I hiss as he buries his nose in the side of my neck.

Surprisingly, he lets go right away, but not before I feel a flick of his tongue on my skin. Another chuckle rumbles out of him, and I am suddenly a little pissed at myself for wanting to get away. That tongue felt…good.

Still. I’m getting _weird_ vibes and I know this guy is both Ben and Kylo and I’m angry and confused and more than a little freaked out.

_Why didn’t he tell me?_

I sit in the opposite chair from him, and I can’t keep a grimace of pain from crossing my face. Because, frankly, my butt hurts. If you’ve ever had unplanned anal sex, you probably didn't have lube on hand...And, without plenty of lube…I really can’t emphasize enough how sore your asshole is going to be afterwards. For days.

I immediately hate myself for letting him do that. Hitching a ride home is going to fucking suck.

I glare at him. This is his fault. _Dick_.

He’s grinning back at me with a Cheshire Cat smirk, as if he can read my mind. I want to slap it right off his face, but I can’t reach. So, instead I grab the beer in front of me and chug it down.

This only forces an obscene growl of hunger to emerge from my abdomen. Except for the beer, my stomach is empty. I try not to let an embarrassed blush creep over my cheeks.

He’s watching me with this _predatory_ look on his face. He really reminds me of a tiger right now, twitching its tail. Just before it pounces.

“When is the last time you had a hot fucking meal, baby girl?” Ben asks softly.

_None of your goddamned business. That’s when._

It’s been three days since I’ve eaten anything  _not_ out of a bag or a wrapper or a glass case at a gas station.

I am _starving_. Probably a little hangry, to be honest.

I can feel my face turning red, and I narrow my eyes, hoping he will shut the hell up.

“What the fuck do you care?” I growl. I reach over and snag the beer in front of him. I guzzle that down, too, daring him to say something else.

“The least I can do is buy you something to eat…” he trails off as his phone dings. He looks at it and the smirk is back, along with a gorgeous dimple on the side of his face.

“Thanks. I’m all good.” My voice is caustic, brimming with irritation and defensiveness. It doesn’t seem to phase him.

“Tell you what,” he mutters, still looking at his phone. “If you wanna continue this little tryst, I’m more than happy to…”

“No. I, uh, need to get back home,” I lie. I really don’t need to. But I’m suddenly feeling very much like I should _run_.

His eyes meet mine and they are like a tractor beam, sucking me in.

I can’t get a read at all on this guy. I might as well be looking at his profile picture for all the facial cues he’s giving me.

“You just came all this way to hook up with me in a public toilet? And now you’re going to turn around and leave? Without even letting me thank you? Or talk?” His eyebrow cocks up demanding an answer. As if he has a right to me. As if he has any say whatsoever in what I do. His pretty brown eyes glint at me, _commanding_...not backing down an inch.

It’s a pretty good stare, but mine is better.

But, at the words “letting me thank you” I kind of pause. Is he offering me money? Because if he is…I could _really_ use some.

“Actually. You _can_ thank me. But then I have to go.” I stick out my hand and make a grabbing motion with it. “Gimme your wallet.”

He barks out a laugh so loud and startling and _attractive_ , heads turn in our direction. I hold his gaze. I really, really could use some cash.

“All right,” he shakes his head. “I was expecting to pay for it one way or another, I guess.”

Fuck this guy. He basically just called me a whore. Again.

Okay. So maybe I'm demanding money as a way he can thank me for letting him fuck me...in a Sanican. Immediately after we met for the first time.

It’s _almost_ difficult for me to justify taking a moral hard line when I literally just had this perfect stranger's dick in my ass not five minutes ago. 

Almost. But I push through my moral qualms and keep my hand outstretched.

He leans to the side and digs a black leather wallet from his back pocket, slapping it into my hand. He’s not arguing, so neither will I.

I peek at his driver’s license and catch glimpse of a New York address.

_Huh. New York. Okay._

I pop open the leather to see how much money he has on him. I'll worry about being a whore later. My heart starts thumping and my breath freezes in my chest.

Several, and I mean _several_ _dozen_ crisp hundred-dollar bills are sitting right fucking _there_.

Nothing turns me on like cold, hard cash.

I try to keep my expression calm as I slide the bills free and fold them in half. I’m not wearing a bra, so I tuck the wad of cash carefully in my front jeans’ pocket. I’ll count it later. But I know it’s a lot.

He chuckles again and holds out his hand in a silent demand for his wallet back, mimicking my earlier move.

“You really are a little whore, aren’t you?” he scoffs, and he sounds amused, but I am _not_.

I _was_ going to hand the wallet back to him, but those derisive words, oh _not cool_. I hold it just out of reach and his eyes darken a bit.

Fuck you, _Ben_.

I open the wallet again and spot something else. A credit card, peeking from behind his driver’s license. Before I can stop myself, I deliberately slide it out and meet his eyes.

He doesn’t look worried but he’s _waaaay_ more serious now…so I take it. If for no other reason, then so he will have to cancel it and won’t be able to use it for a couple of days.

His nostrils flare as I toss the now much-lighter wallet onto the table in front of his outstretched hand.

“Fuck you,” I spit at him. Heads turn our way again and I stand to leave. “Have a nice life.”

My legs are shaking and my heart hammers in my chest. I can’t seem to catch my breath.

I feel dizzy. I feel... _blurry_.

 _I’m going to fall_ , I realize stupidly.

He stands abruptly, hauling me into his side. Easily. He’s big. Almost twice my size.

Something doesn’t feel right.

 _This…is weird_ , I think fuzzily.

He smells amazing, clean and spicy and just a little bit like sex. I want him to kiss me again with that luscious mouth of his. Maybe let him eat me out. Maybe let him eat me out and then kiss me...

Why am I thinking that?

Something is wrong.

“Playing around with me…was an _exceedingly_ bad idea, Rey.” His voice is a low growl in my ear, all hot and breathy and sexy... “And now? I think I’m going to play around with _you_.”

That really doesn’t sound so bad. Except, I know it's bad. Not safe. 

I'm in _danger_. 

He steers me around the tables in the beer garden and the nice-looking people who are chatting and sipping their beer in their plastic cups, totally oblivious to what is happening.

It’s all I can do to remain upright. _But_.

If anyone is looking closely enough, I know they will see maybe my feet aren’t touching the ground all the way.

They will see maybe this guy is a _stranger_ and he’s fucking _taking_ _me_ _away_ , right under their noses.

They will see maybe something is wrong something is wrong something is desperately _wrong_.

I want to scream for help, but my tongue feels so big. A big, useless lump in my mouth.

I hear a ringing inside my head. My eyes see two of everything. Sounds echo weirdly around me.

It takes too long for me to figure out the problem, to understand what is happening.

_Don’t fall, don’t fall. Do not fucking fall._

I’m clutching at him, at the soft fabric of his shirt and the warm muscles underneath, hard and unyielding but so _good_ and dammit, I don’t want to, but I can’t _not_ cling to him. I know if I let go I’ll fall.

“Drugged me…” I shout, but it comes out as a whispered gasp, a quietly ragged accusation.

My eyelids aren’t working right.

“Shut up. Keep moving, baby. We’re not done yet. Not even close.”

 

I wake up in a moving car. I’m slumped in the passenger seat. The seat belt digs uncomfortably into my neck.

The motion of the vehicle makes me a little sick, but I don’t puke in spite of the funky old-car smell permeating everything.

He’s driving, huge hands gripping the steering wheel casually. Competently. 

I can tell we are headed west or south, based on the position of the sun, which is high overhead.

Early afternoon.

If we’ve been driving for more than a few hours, then we will be well away from Vermont.

Something tells me he is taking me to New York.

 _He drugged me,_ I remember. It wouldn’t have taken much with me being on the thin side and having an empty stomach…

I guess we’ve been on the road for at least a few hours.

_Stay calm. Focus._

If you’ve ever woken up from being drugged, you’ll know you will have an absolutely _pounding_ headache. Nothing will want to work right.

My limbs feel sluggish.

My butt really hurts. Lube really is a _good_ thing. I promise myself if I live through whatever this is, I will never, ever do anal again without plenty of it…

_What the fuck is going on?_

I breathe. The stink of old, musty car washing through my nostrils wakes me up somewhat.

I am pretty sure I’ve been in scarier situations, although I can’t name them right now.

I refuse to panic.

I glance down to the console between us and see a bottle of water.

I _am_ thirsty. But I’m not drinking anything this asshole gives me.

“Drink some water, Rey,” he tells me without looking away from the road.

He grunts and reaches for the bottle. I hate myself for flinching at the unexpected movement.

He’s picked up the bottle and it looks ridiculously tiny in his giant hand. He takes a good three, deliberate swallows. 

_It isn’t drugged, then._

_Okay._

I grab it out of his hand and his lips curl into a knowing sneer as I gulp down the rest.

His eyes meet mine again, and I’m once again struck by how lovely they are. A rich, amber-whiskey color. Fathomless and surrounded by curly, dark lashes.

He’s really quite pretty.

My belly clenches, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m hungry or scared or horny or what. Probably a combination of all of it. I'm not in immediate danger, but its all around me, pouring off of _him_ and thick in the air. My mind starts racing and my eyes begin surreptitiously combing my surroundings for a weapon.

I definitely need to get out of this car. Soon.

I'm feeling more alert. Whatever he drugged me with is wearing off, but I'm playing it meek and cool even though my anger is definitely ramping up. I stay calm, but I’m going to _kill_ this crazy shithead. He fucking _took_ me. _Fucker._

“Rey,” he croons, but his sing-song tone of voice is a _warning._ My brain screams at me: _Listen_.

So, I stay quiet as he murmurs, “You aren’t going anywhere…I’m not done playing games with you…”

I glance to the passenger door and realize we are in an old car. A smaller one. I try to identify the type of vehicle by looking at the logo on the steering wheel, but it’s long gone…this car is a total piece of crap.

I can see the faded red paint on the hood, cracked and peeling above the engine block. The interior stinks, and the upholstery is worn, the dashboard warped and faded. There is a gaping hole where the radio should be.

But worst of all…the mechanical lock and handle of the passenger door next to me have been removed.

I can’t get out.

Plus, we are doing forty-five, according to the round, dial speedometer. Nothing in this vehicle is digital.

_Forty-five. Not the freeway. He’s taking side roads?_

_Don’t panic._

_Work the problem._

I don’t know _why_ I’m not freaking out right now. But I’m so calm it scares me.

Under the pretense of adjusting my clothes and the seatbelt, I check my front pocket.

The cash is still there. _Okay._

_Get out. Find a way._

It’s pure luck the State Patrol car is where it is.

“I need air or I’m gonna puke,” I mutter at him, manually rolling down the window with the rickety lever and loose knob. The window gets stuck a third of the way down, but it’s enough.

He sees the Stater, too, and I toss the empty water bottle out the window before he can stop me.

My luck strikes again, as it bounces off the hood of the patrol car. My heart kicks up a frantic tempo. Lights start flashing.

I suck in a lungful of air as the patrol car pulls onto the road and sirens blare.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Rey. That was a fucking mistake.”

The venom in his voice is palpable. He is _furious_.

He glowers at me, dark hair falling over his brow. For some reason, I want to sweep it away and admire the high, dramatic angle of his forehead.

But I don’t. Because he looks like he wants to _murder_ me.

His jaw clenches as he pulls to the side of the road. There’s no way this rolling piece of shit we’re in can outrun a Stater.

He’s spitting mad. _Good_.

“Keep your goddamned mouth shut,” he threatens.

_The fuck I will._

Nevertheless, I sit, very still. My heart is going to thump right through my ribs, and my head aches and my ass hurts, and I am trapped in this crappy car with a very pissed-off Ben. Who drugged me and is taking me God-knows-where.

Screw this. I need to get out of here. I’m not going anywhere with anyone.

The cop approaches us with that confident, egotistic swagger they all seem to have. It’s a woman.

 _Good, again._ I can work with that.

She strides up to the window of our car and I can feel the thick, intense rage rolling off Ben, now.

But he politely cranks down his window and asks calmly enough, “Is there a problem, officer?”

She is on the small side. An advantage, if I can leverage it.

Better, yet. She looks young. Maybe a year or so within my age. _New cop._ I mentally calculate just how fresh out of the academy she is…

“License and registration,” she states in a no-nonsense voice.

Ben glares at me. “Sweetheart, get the registration out of the glove compartment, won’t you?”

He digs out his wallet for his driver’s license, handing it out the window while eyeing me grudgingly.

I open the glovebox and pretend to paw around in the clutter there. My hands are not shaking, and I don’t know why. They should be. Because my adrenaline levels are _off_ the charts.

“Sorry. Can’t find it.” 

“Sir. Do you know why I pulled you over?” the cop asks. The name tag on her uniform says Tico.

“Because I littered?” I ask quietly, interrupting whatever Ben was going to say.

There is so much tension right now, I can fucking taste it. The cop tastes it too.

“Ma’am. Sir. Step out of the vehicle please.”

She is holding a taser. _Excellent_.

Ben’s jaw clenches again and he shoots me a murderous look.

_Keep going, Rey._

“I’m sorry, officer. I can’t step out of the vehicle. I’m trapped in here.” I tell her. I let a little waver come through my voice. Enough to get her to _look_. 

Her eyes alight on the fucked-up door and lock on my side and she jumps out of the way just in time. Because Ben has slammed open his door in an attempt to knock her down.

She’s quick with the taser, though. And she lights Ben up like a fucking Christmas tree.

It’s pretty awesome to watch someone his size get knocked on his ass by a tiny little cop a good foot shorter than him.

He drops to the ground like a rock.

She looks at me and for the first time she looks rattled.

“Help me,” I plead, pushing helplessly at the door I can’t open.

She trots around to my side of the car.

She pulls open the passenger door and I know I only have a split second to make a move. Her sidearm is holstered, but she’s loosened the strap for easy access.

I snatch it from her hip as I lurch from the car and she looks stunned, lifting her arms high in the air.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, a little out of breath. I stumble far enough away she can’t tackle me.

“Keys. Cuffs. Extra clip. Now,” I tell her. My head hurts. The gun in my hand is a heavy, familiar weight. I know it’s loaded. I flick the safety off without looking at it.

She looks absolutely betrayed. And rightfully pissed.

Ben groans from the other side of the car, and I know I’m running out of time.

Because the second he is fully functional again, I’m screwed.

“My keys are in the patrol car,” the cop tells me calmly. She tosses her handcuffs to land at my feet, along with the extra clip of ammo on her belt.

“Disengage your radio. No funny moves,” I warn her. I hear Ben shuffling around.

_Shit._

“Now!” I yell. _Fuck, fuck. Hurry up, bitch._

She rips the radio transceiver from her chest and tosses it to the side.

I snatch up the cuffs and ammo clip before she can leap on me or do something similarly stupid. We walk around to where Ben is laid out on the side of the road.

“Come around here,” I order, waving the gun to motion her to where Ben is twitching and dry heaving. The probes from the taser are hanging off his chest.

I hope it hurts like hell.

He’ll be up any second now.

“Cuff his wrist. Thread your arm through the steering wheel. Cuff yourself to him.” I do not have time to dick around. Adrenaline is pouring into me like a steady stream of gasoline.

I really don’t want to shoot either one of them. But I will.

Because if I go with either one of them, I somehow feel positive I am dead meat.

Ben glares at me with such malevolence it is a tangible thing, and I can feel it pounding into me in waves, and my arm is already getting tired from pointing the gun at them. 

"Hurry up," I snap, trying to instill some authority into my voice. 

The cop cuffs herself to Ben’s awkwardly outstretched wrist, threading her own through the steering wheel of the rolled-down window of the shitty red car. He’s trying to scramble into a crouching position and that just won’t do _at all_.

I point the gun at him.

“Toss me your phone, _Ben_."

A flicker of something crosses his face and I wonder if it’s fear. I like that look on him. I like it a lot.

He reaches a shaky hand into his back pocket and tosses his phone at my feet. I crouch, keeping the gun trained on him while I pick it up and tuck it into the front pocket of my hoodie.

I have no idea where my backpack is. _No time._

I look at the cop. She looks flabbergasted. I am about to apologize, but Ben speaks.

“You can’t run, baby. It’s only a matter of time…” His voice is a low growl that shouldn’t turn me on so much. But it does.

“You motherfucking piece of shit,” I snarl. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

Ben trails off as I point the gun very deliberately at his arrogant face. Right before I pull the trigger, I adjust my aim a fraction of an inch.

The loud crack of the gunshot immediately precedes the small boom of the tire exploding four inches from his head.

“Fuck!” he shouts, flinching away. But I don’t have time to stand around and savor it.

My chest is heaving, and I need to go. _Now_.

I set his phone on the center line in the middle of the road.

I spin on my heels and run to the patrol car.

The cop wasn't lying. The keys are in it, thank God.

I gun the engine to life and hit the gas, steering erratically as the tires burn rubber for half a second. I steer the patrol car towards Ben's phone, a tiny black square in the road and hear a small crunch as the tire crushes it.

My heart flutters and I refuse to look over at Ben and Officer Tico, cuffed to the steering wheel of a shitty red car on the side of the road.

I don't have time worry about anything or anyone but me. I need to get the fuck out of there and figure out what I am supposed to do next.


	3. Have Another Slice. I Insist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll. Thank you a million times for your comments and kudos and bookmarks and oh my GAWD. It is CAKE to me.
> 
> And so, in return, I am so excited to give you some more cake...
> 
> Enjoy...

# Chapter Three – Have Another Slice. I Insist.

 

Coming down off whatever Ben drugged me with, combined with the rush of adrenaline from assaulting a cop and stealing her gun and car is making me nauseous.

I am going to barf all over the inside of this patrol car, all over the fancy-looking electronic shit everywhere…

_Focus, Rey._

I know Ben drugged me, kidnapped me, and scared the crap out of me.

_That’s what you get, Rey, for hooking up with strangers you meet online, I guess? No. Nobody deserves this._

Yes, it was impulsive and woefully short-sighted of me…why I didn’t just let the cop arrest him and let her _help_ me?

Because. I know in my gut. He will find me again. And if I end up in a police station, they _will not_ let me leave. _Period_.

The ruthless look in his eyes is _scorched_ into the back of my skull. But it’s his words playing over and over in my head in a drumbeat I can’t stop that are sending shivers of paranoia up and down my spine.

_Playing around with me…was an exceedingly bad idea…and now? I think I’m going to play around with you._

He’s dangerous. Bad. I need to get far, far away from him.

I know this like I know my own name. It is irrefutable fact. I can feel it in my bones, even though it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. It’s insane, what I just did. But I know I was right to do it.

And I know what I need to do next.

I need to _disappear_.

I also need to ditch this car _immediately_. It is most definitely lo-jacked, and if nothing else, the dashcam probably caught the whole scene of me hijacking it right after I stole that cop’s gun and fired it in her general direction… _Fuck_.

They are very probably already sending someone to check on Officer Tico right now.

I refuse to think about the fear in her eyes when I had her gun pointed at her.

I _will_ think about the look in Ben’s eyes when he told me “ _It’s only a matter of time.”_

I have done some risky, stupid, scary things in my day. I have never felt true, actual danger knocking at my door until he said that to me.

It is frightening enough for my mind to kick into overdrive, along with my heart rate.

But. I force myself to breathe. Calm. Calm is good.

I don’t know why he’s after me, but I know he is. It boils down to one simple concept: I need to run, and he’s coming for me. Along with half the Troopers in New York State…

I’ve already turned off the radio and disabled the dashcam. Whoever is back at the patrol station keeps asking for Tico to check in…and I can’t be distracted.

The screen on the console displays a map. I am an hour or so outside New York City.

_You aren’t going anywhere…I’m not done playing games with you…_

People always think they can hide away in small little towns or remote areas. And usually, that works. If they are smart and inconspicuous.

But the thing about small towns is that people talk. And strangers get noticed. Eventually.

I need to disappear to somewhere where nobody knows me.

I know Ben’s address is in New York. I saw it on his driver’s license. It doesn’t make sense for me to go there. Which is exactly why I’m going there.

It’s way easier to hide among millions than among thousands.

Ben has taken me as far as New York State, using side roads, presumably. I am very close to the Connecticut state line. I could cross the state lines and try to hitchhike to New York.

 _No._ I immediately discard that idea. They will have an APB out on me for sure.

I need a plan. I need to lose this patrol car.

I have to be strategic. And I have to act quickly.

I need to get a grip.

Everything becomes very simple in fight or flight mode. I will do what I need to do to survive. Or I will die.

It really is that easy.

I navigate the car to a highway, which is risky, but will have more opportunities for me to do what I need to do.

My stomach growls with empty hunger, enraged at having had nothing to eat since yesterday.

I scan through the light traffic for a likely vehicle. Someone I can pull over.

People are so trusting. It’s remarkably easy.

I spot a newer-looking minivan – believe it or not those things can haul ass when they need to – with a lone woman driving. She looks distracted, talking on her cell phone. Good. Perfect. The stick people on the back of the van tell me she has kids. Even better.

People are always so much more trusting when they think they are in trouble. And they are so much more obedient when they are taken by surprise...

Especially when they have something to lose.

I flip the lights on the patrol car and the minivan pulls over almost immediately. 

I scan around for anything I can take with me.

A lunch box. _Yes_. I grab Officer Tico’s gun and leave the keys in the car. If I’m lucky, a bum might steal it and lead the cops on a wild goose chase…

I run to the passenger side of the van, so I’m not spotted from the road.

I yank the door open before the driver can hit the lock button, and I hop into the passenger seat.

I point the gun right in her face and tell her to put her damned phone down, slowly. 

She looks fucking terrified as she mutters, "I gotta go..." and hangs up. 

Her eyes are huge. Fear is good. "Please," she whispers. 

And then I hear it.

A gurgle from behind me. A coo, then a fretful cry. She has a fucking baby in this car.

_FUCKING GODDAMN._

Her eyes well with tears, and I command myself to not respond emotionally. I can’t. He’s coming for me.

“Drive.” My voice is firm and even, but unsympathetic. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” the woman begs. “Please don’t hurt my b-b-baby boy he’s only three months old omigod _please_.” This last comes out an anxious, heart-rending wail and tears stream down her face.

She’s begging me.

 _Goddammit_. I add being a _generally horrible person_ to my ever-growing list of names I need to call myself _later_. Along with whore, thief… _scavenger_ …

“Lady. Move this van onto the road. _Now_.” Yes, I feel like shit, but we need to _go_. “If you don’t do it, I fucking will…”

My hand does not waver as it points the gun in her face.

 _Her_ hands, however, are shaking so hard she can barely get the minivan into drive and start the engine.

She’s blubbering, “Okay, okay, okay, just _pleeease_ , he’s only three months old…please don’t hurt him…You can have anything you want. I will do anything you say…”

A mystifying sense of compassion washes into me, along with a heavy dose of guilt.

"Stop talking." I just can't listen to it right now. I just can't. 

The human impulse to protect and survive is the strongest force on earth. Without question. And when push comes to shove, people will always choose survival over just about anything.

In my experience, even love is exempt from this most basic instinct.

Which is why I am so conflicted over what is happening right now. This woman, this _stranger_ with my gun pointed at her head, is not begging for _her_ life. She’s begging for her baby’s.

Something I know for a fact my own parents never would have done for me.

I have all the leverage I need to get what I want…but, _fuck_ , I’m not going to hurt a baby.

I don’t want to hurt _anyone_. I just want to get away.

I decide a small reassurance won’t hurt. “I’m not going to hurt you or your baby, okay? Not if you do everything I tell you to do…”

She pulls onto the road and my sense of relief grows markedly stronger the further we get from the patrol car.

I see flashing lights up ahead and will myself to stay calm. They are flying at us, headed in the opposite direction. State Patrol. And they are _hauling ass_.

“Go, go, go.” I tell her.

She steps on the gas and three State Patrol cars speed right past us, sirens blaring. I know for a fact they are going to probably start putting up road blocks at the state lines.

_Looks like I’m staying in New York State, then. For now._

I look at the woman. Tears stream down her face.

“Do you have enough gas in this thing to get to Canada?” No way she needs to know I’m headed for Manhattan.

“I just, just filled it up yesterday…”

“Listen. I know I am holding a gun on you right now. I know what this looks like,” I tell her. “I need help. That’s all. I just need to borrow your van. Okay?”

She nods and starts babbling that she’ll do whatever I want.

_Yes. Good. Okay._

“Is anyone going to be looking for you? For the next couple of hours?”

“N-nooo. I mean. Yes, but not for a little while…I was going shopping…with…” her eyes roll frantically back to the car seat, which is facing away from us.

She swallows.

She drives for fifteen minutes, and I know she’s freaking out. I am trying really hard not to let the woman’s constant glances back to the car set get on my nerves. She is obsessed with that baby back there. He’s warbling these cute little sounds and it’s making my stomach hurt with guilt.

“Your baby sounds really happy,” I tell her. “Not a crier…you must be a really good mom.”

I’ve never spent time around children or babies, so I don’t really know what the appeal is, other than I know most people say they love their kids.

I have to take the concept at face-value, since I wouldn’t know from personal experience.

But, I have this crazy guy coming for me, so I need to fucking compartmentalize all that shit until later.

I see a sign for a state park up ahead. I tell her to take a right at the next exit and go to the park.

“Um. Head for the restrooms…” I tell her. She flinches at the sound of my voice and glances at me nervously.

It’s October. Nobody is camping, and the park is closed except for day use.

I see two cars in the parking lot. People in the very far distance.

It’ll have to do.

We are pulling into the parking lot when the baby starts fussing.

_Shit._

My gun has been pointed at this woman for almost twenty minutes. She’s calmed down considerably, and she’s a good driver. I know she is still super-stressed out, although things aren’t nearly as tense as they were when I first hijacked this car…

“Park here. I need your cell phone and your wallet.” I’m already going to hell for this. Might as well make good and sure I’m getting all the way in.

“Okay,” she mutters. “My purse is in the seat behind me. My phone is right there…” She nods to the cell phone sitting in the cupholder in the console between us.

“Keep both hands on the wheel,” I instruct her.

The baby is starting to make these angry little noises, now. I think he is going to start crying any minute.

 _Shit_.

I keep my eyes on her. I leave her cell where it is. I can’t let her take it with her.

For obvious reasons.

“I am going to take your van. I need you to go into the restroom, take your baby with you. And wait ten minutes before you start calling for help.”

She nods.

“I have your purse. I can only assume your ID is in there. That means I know where you live.” My threat is implied, although flimsy. I have a feeling I'm not as scary as I think I am...

She nods again, and her eyes keep drifting to the car seat behind us.

“I know you need to report this. I know you will need to call the cops…. I am just giving myself a head start…I am going to lock you in there…”

The woman swallows nervously, and I know for a fact she is going to start screaming for help the minute she hears me pull away...

She isn’t _quite_ so afraid of me anymore. _Dammit_.

I am _not_ going to kill this woman. And if I incapacitate her…there’s a three-month old baby behind me who is rapidly demanding some attention…he can’t be left unattended because his mother is knocked out cold…

That would be fucked up, even for me.

“Get out.”

“My baby…” her lips are trembling.

“Get out, leave the van running. Get your baby.”

She does what I tell her, asking if she can take the diaper bag on the back seat too. I nod assent.

She turns and almost runs into the bathroom, hauling her baby in his car seat in the crook of one arm and the diaper bag over the opposite shoulder like a fucking champ.

_Good job super-mom._

The second the restroom door swings shut behind her, I jump out of the van and follow her.

The restroom door swings to the inside, I notice vaguely, so I can’t jam it shut from the outside.

But there is a padlock ring I can use.

I dig through her purse and find a metal pen. I bend the clip just a bit and wedge the pen into the hole where the padlock would go. The clip will hold it in place. Not for long. But long enough…

She’s quiet so far, but the second that van pulls out of the parking lot, I’m sure she’ll start hollering for help.

I hop in the van and floor it.

I feel like _shit_ about this. I am fucking ashamed of myself. That I not only deliberately targeted someone who would be most susceptible…but that I went _through_ with it.

Maybe it doesn’t make sense.

But sometimes the veil between thought and action is a thinner, more permeable shroud than we might realize. It just takes one little poke to make a hole. And when you look through to the other side…you discover you might be capable of doing things you never thought you would actually do.

And it can’t be justified. Or excused. It just _happens_.

My mind wanders to what I need to do next. I can’t stay in New York City for too long, but I can get everything I need there to escape more permanently. I need a new identity. I will need transportation. I’m thinking maybe Canada might be a good place to lose myself...

I catch a whiff of my own body odor and it drags me back to reality. I _stink_. I know I reek of stale sex and my breath has to be god-awful at this point. And, my butt hurts from sitting in a car all day after…

I am very thirsty and I’m so hungry it’s all I can do not to dig into Officer Tico’s lunch box and see what’s in there.

My head is pounding and every muscle in my body aches from holding onto as much as adrenaline as possible after the initial rush faded.

I’m _so_ tired. I wish I was back in my little bed in my crappy studio apartment. I want a hot shower.

In spite of all my physical and mental discomfort, I find myself falling into a bit of a lull. But I can’t get comfortable. Not yet.

I drive, staying off the Interstate – it’s a toll road, too risky – and eventually find a rest stop. Hardly anyone there.

This might just work great.

I take off my hoodie, leaving it in the van. I stash the gun and extra ammo in the woman’s purse and grab Officer Tico’s lunch box.

Several cars are parked in front of the restrooms, along with a couple of big rig trucks.

I avoid the truck drivers. They will have radios and may already have been alerted about me.

I just need to hitch a ride…I estimate it’s only been about half an hour since I left Ben cuffed to that car. Feels like a week has passed.

I look for an old person. Someone who wouldn’t have a smartphone. Someone who listens to smooth-jazz old people radio and not breaking news.

I find my mark after five minutes. He’s just coming out of the men’s room and he looks old as fuck.

Perfect.

“Um. Sir? Excuse me?” I ask him. Have I mentioned it’s October? And I’m only wearing a t-shirt now? Yeah.

Not God or nature can prevent a man’s eyes from traveling over a pair of rock-hard nipples when they are bouncing right under his nose…

He catches me catching him staring, and I give him a winsome smile.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asks, squinting at me. _Putty in my hands._

“Um. I was traveling with some friends, and they thought it would be funny to leave me here…” I tell him. “Do you have a cell phone? They took mine…and I really need to get to New York…”

“Sorry,” he mutters, and his eyes crawl over my chest again. _Gross._ “I don’t have a cell phone.”

It is unbelievably easy for me to burst into tears.

“Oh, no!” I sob, giving him my very best helpless gaze. “I really, really have to get to New York…it’s my grandma’s birthday…”

I watch from the corner of my eye as he stares at me, mouth agape.

And it’s just that easy.

Five minutes later, I am in his 1994 Jeep Cherokee listening to some AM radio station that’s playing Buddy Holly – actually not bad at all – scarfing down Officer Tico’s lunch as quickly as I can without choking on it.

The Jeep smells like old leather seats and is immaculately clean.

He offers me a cola he’d purchased from the vending machine at the rest stop and I give him a tearful _thanks_. 

Now that I have a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich in me, I am feeling much better. I peel a banana and wonder if Officer Tico’s mom packed her lunch for her… There is also a small package of Cheetos and a large chocolate chip cookie in a baggie.

_Okay. Everything is going to be okay._

Thankfully the old dude doesn’t try anything. He really is just being nice. Thank God. Because I do have a loaded gun in the stolen purse in my lap...

It’s late afternoon, and the autumn sun shines brightly as we approach the city. The New York skyline is quite a sight to behold, especially on a nice day.

But I’m not thinking about nice.

I’m wondering how long the wad of cash I took from Ben’s wallet is going to last me.

I’m mentally preparing myself to do something I haven’t had to do for a long, long time. Start from scratch. And survive.

 

New York City is expensive, dirty, noisy… and I fucking love it.

After the old guy drops me off in a not-great but not-horrible-looking neighborhood, I find an out-of-the-way corner to finally check my pockets and make sure the safety on Tico’s gun is on and accessible in the lunch box. I am pleased to find almost three thousand dollars cash in my front pocket. I divide it into four different piles and stash some in each front pocket and in each of my shoes.

I left Ben’s credit card at the rest stop, sitting right on the restroom counter, hoping someone will take it and use it and they are headed far, far away from me.

The lady’s purse holds two-hundred and seventy-three dollars cash, along with a wallet full of credit cards, an ID, and pictures of her kids.

I categorically refuse to look at her name or address.

I find a nearby entrance to the subway and jump on board, riding random cars for the next couple of hours, waiting for full nightfall...

I leave her purse on the subway, hoping someone might take it and use those credit cards, too…far away from me.

And then...then, I find the skankiest hotel in the entirety of Manhattan.

I'm not scared, because I have a gun, so I’ll be fine. But I'm getting cold, and my t-shirt and jeans are thin...

I pay eighteen hundred dollars of my precious, precious cash for two weeks in what is sure to be anything but a stay at the Ritz. I ask the grubby old woman who checks me in where I can find someone to help me with an “identity” problem.

For another fifty bucks, she gives me an address a couple blocks away. I head there immediately and broker a deal to get a U.S. passport and driver's license for another thousand dollars. I can pick it up in a week.

I wish I'd taken a shower before they take my picture. Oh well.

I’m gross.

Nobody bothers me on my way to my room. Probably because I look like a fucking street rat and smell like an outhouse.

I need clothes that won’t draw attention. I need food.

I need to figure out why Ben is after me, aside from the very obvious fact he’s a crazy, obsessed stalker.

Which is _so_ weird. I really, really didn’t get crazy stalker vibes off him at all. Not until…

Not until after I knew he was Kylo.

And Kylo had definitely given me some weird vibes…

I'm tired. I'll worry about everything later.

Peeling wallpaper and carpet so stained I can't make out the pattern on it leads to my room. Frankly, the whole place smells like actual shit and overcooked fish and layer upon layer of despair. 

I hope to God this shithole has running water and I wonder where I might find it. Because there is no fucking way my room is going to have a private bathroom. 

It has wi-fi, though, and an ancient computer in the lobby for customers to use in 15-minute increments at ten dollars a pop...

I wonder if I should try logging into my online account to see what he messaged to me before I destroyed his phone…but later. 

I open the pathetic excuse for a lock to room nineteen and freeze.

Turns out. I don’t need to worry about those messages at all.

Because he’s waiting for me in my room, sitting on a filthy-looking mattress that is almost comically bowed-in with his weight. He’s just as calm as can be.

My instinct to flee takes a full eight seconds to kick in before I whirl around to run away. 

“Stop!” he yells. “Rey!”

I don’t know why, because how fucking stupid would it be for me to stop, right? But I do stop.

Because...he’s…not scary right now…not even a little…

_How the hell did he find me?_

“Rey…? Okay, what the hell is going on?” he barks at me.

My brain has no idea how to process what he’s just asked me.

“Are you fucking serious?” I scream.

Someone yells for me to shut my fucking mouth through the door of room number eighteen. I smack my palm on the door, hoping the occupant will butt the hell out of my private conversation…

I’m backing away, but I really don’t think I can outrun this guy. Maybe after a full meal or two and some rest and clothes that aren’t sticky with sweat and cum and fuck-knows-what-else.

“Rey. You…we seriously need to talk, okay?” Ben licks his plump, red, pussy-eating lips, and he looks _intensely_ worried. Which is so _bizarre_ , considering how terrifyingly scary he was just hours ago.

I don’t say a word. 

It still doesn’t explain why he tried to knock that cop out with the driver’s side door of that piece of shit red car.

So that’s the first thing I ask him about.

“Why did you try to take out that cop?”

“Take her _out_? What? The fuck?”

He seems incredulous, and either this guy is an Oscar-nominated actor, or he’s honestly confused.

“Why did you try to take out the cop with the door of your car? Isn’t that why she tased you?”

“I…I _didn’t_ ,” he sputters. “That car was a piece of shit and the door was stuck. As I explained to her five seconds after you stole her patrol car…while we were fucking handcuffed to each other.”

_Oh._

But, still. “How did you find me?”

“Rey. You left a pretty obvious trail. It was a process of elimination. For someone with my resources…” At this, his eyebrow lifts and he looks a little more like… _Kylo..._ I mean, if I had to guess what Kylo might look like, since technically I’ve never seen his face…

Kylo. This has something to do with Kylo…

…and. Oh. Wait.

I never read those last few messages from Kylo.

_Oh. Shit._

And Ben...Let’s just say Ben and I have _talked_. A lot. About one very specific little fantasy I’ve always had.

And … oh… okay. 

I gasp.

Oh. _Oh, no._

All of the pieces come flying together at once in a dizzying wave of understanding. So, it’s possible I may have overreacted…

“You…were doing the kidnapping fantasy, weren’t you?”

Oh. Holy fuck, I hijacked a car and a three-month old baby and let some old fucking grandpa perv on my hard nipples so I could escape from the sex fantasy I’ve been having ever since I slapped eyes on a romance novel at the ripe old age of twelve…

And I committed at _least_ ten or twelve pretty serious crimes…trying to escape this very hot and sexy man who was very obviously trying to get us both off in an almost play-by-play version of the last fantasy I told him about...in our online chat...

Shit. They won’t send me back to England…America has the death penalty…I’m totally fucked.

And then. I realize this is all _his_ fault.

“You cock-sucking piece of fuck!” I bellow. “You fucking _drugged_ me.”

Room eighteen screams, “Shut up, bitch, or I _will_ fucking drug you!”

Something crashes against his door and I am tempted to take a moment to kick the asshole’s door down and beat the shit out of him for interrupting...

Ben’s voice stops me.

“Rey. Come on. Let’s talk…” he coaxes, and he looks so sincerely apologetic, I am having serious doubts about my sanity.

A little voice tells me _no way this is the same guy_. _No fucking way. You were running for your life..._

But my brain replays and stalls out on something even more interesting. He just said to me: _For someone with my resources…_

Which means. This guy is fucking loaded.

He has money.

Enough to buy his way out of whatever trouble we might have caused poor Officer Tico earlier today…? Enough to feel comfortable drugging a strange girl and kidnapping her in the name of extreme roleplaying?

Damn well enough to carry around a black American Express card and three grand to a booty call at a beer festival…

I evaluate him again…this time noticing the quality of his clothes, the way his hair is messy but cut to look styled no matter how many times he runs his fingers through it.

The expensive scent he wears… The black alligator-skin boots on his massive feet. Easily worth ten-thousand or more.

This dude has serious coinage.

And I want some.


	4. Add Sugar

# Chapter Four – Add Sugar

 

Okay.

I stole some lady’s purse. I stole a cop car and a gun. Not cool. I _know_.

I fully own up to that.

Aaaaand. I hijacked a car with a three-month-old baby in it. Also my bad.

Like. That was _so_ bad.

I know. Okay?

In my defense…whatever Ben drugged me with may have made me a _teensy_ bit paranoid.

Which is why I did those very bad things.

I was just…so sure he was going to _get_ me, though. And not in a hot-mugger-porno-fantasy kind of way.

He was really, really putting out some…scary-bad vibes.

And that is why, in the process of my frantic escape, I may have inadvertently made myself do some assholey things. Felony things.

This is all Ben's fault, if I really think about it. 

But. 

I stand frozen in the squalid hallway leading to my crappy hotel room, just next to the grimy door of room number eighteen. And I’ve just kind of realized Ben is _loaded_.

Ben stands ten or eight feet away in the dirty, stained hallway of my absolutely disgusting hotel, looking even more expensive than ever, probably due to the contrast between his extreme good looks and the watery, flickering lights overhead, which shamelessly reveal just how much of a shithole this place really is.

And. While I am certain I look like I belong right _here_ in this garbage dump of a building, surrounded by trash and stench, along with my fellow shit-stains of humanity… I am also certain _forwhatevercrazyreason_ , this hot, rich, sexy, big, sexually-deviant guy…wants to talk to me.

He wants me.

Even though I am filthy. Stinky. Hungry. Cranky. Holding a cop's lunch box with a gun stashed inside. And now a hunted criminal.

I pointedly glance to room eighteen’s door as if the resident of said room can hear my thoughts, which unexpectedly ring quite loudly inside my head…

“Rey.” Ben catches my attention once again. He is so handsome it makes my teeth hurt to look at him, even with this vague menacing _something_ hovering between us…

Those amber eyes of his run over me and I can _feel_ them landing on my stinky, sticky clothes and my tangled hair and my tired face.

He wants me. Like, _sexually_.

Even though…he did trick me. And call me a whore. And a slut.

And he didn’t use any lube when he fucked my ass and now? My butt _huuuuurrrrrrts_.

But I am tired, and he looks like he wants me to come with him…and he also looks like pure sin and money, and honestly? I’m done.

I’m just. Done.

All I really care about at this very _moment_ is getting my weary, grimy self into a hot shower. Maybe eating something not out of a plastic baggie…and maybe sleeping for a few hours in a place that doesn’t look as if it will simultaneously contaminate me with fleas _and_ a staph infection.

And I need an Excedrin. My head is _killing_ me.

“Rey. Come on,” he mutters. “Let’s get you out of here…”

He steps forward and stretches out his hand.

All of a sudden letting this rich, handsome guy solve some of my problems for me sounds like the best thing in the world right now.

I want to cry, and I can’t. Tears won’t come… I might be dehydrated.

I watch him and get that scary-weird feeling of blurriness again.

Something peculiar is happening and I think I might be fainting, which is _crazy_ , because I’m not a fainter, but maybe everything is just a bit _much_ all at once.

My knees just kind of buckle under me, like somebody pushed them from behind. I don’t want to touch the filthy, stained carpet of the hallway…but looks like I’m going to be face-first all over it…yes. I’m definitely going to need a hepatitis or tetanus or whatever shot and a round of antibiotics after this day…

I can worry about all the other shit later. Later.

I start to crumble and Ben lunges forward, impossibly fast, and catches me.

I’m flying or floating or something. He lifts me easily. Those arms, holy shit, he’s _strong_. Warm muscles surround me, pressing right into my face…and he smells _sooo_ good. Like money.

I mean. Obviously, he doesn’t _literally_ smell like money. He smells rich, though. Expensive.

He’s wearing the same clothes from this morning, and I can see a small hole in his shirt from where the probes of Officer Tico’s taser got him, but if he’s been sweating it doesn’t smell bad. I bury my face in his shirt and breathe in his scent. _Shit_.

“Mmmmmmmhhhhh,” I groan against him, as he hefts me into a more secure hold. “How do you smell so good?”

He chuckles as he strides down the hallway. “You smell like a fucking hobo, you know that?”

While he might be right, that’s very much an asshole thing to say…

Something _Kylo_ would say. And for some reason, I am torn between wanting Ben to rescue me while being seriously pissed at Kylo.

_What a fucking douche._

Annoyed, I try to wriggle out of his hold, but he just tightens his arms until I stop. He carries me down the wobbly, precarious stairs, past the beat-up front desk and grubby old lady who yells “No refunds!” and out the door. Right up to a long, sleek, black limousine parked conspicuously just outside.

A baby-faced youngish man holds the passenger door open for us and his expression is _totally_ blank. As in no reaction whatsoever to his boss carrying some scrawny, smelly, underdressed girl across the dirty sidewalk.

Is this what Ben’s money buys? Blind obedience? I’m impressed despite myself.

Ben deposits me unceremoniously into the buttery-soft leather interior of his limo. It’s fucking nice in here. Wow.

Ben clears his throat and lifts a brow expectantly.

_Scoot over. Right._

I scoot, and he climbs in after me.

Suddenly, I am in a very different world…and I’m feeling something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

Insecure.

I don’t belong in this realm.

I shouldn’t be here.

_Run. I should run._

But we are moving now, and I _really_ don’t want to jump out of this heavenly luxury and return to the festering squalor of the hotel…

Besides, he’d just catch me again, I reason inwardly.

Nobody speaks a word, so I sit there, trying to hunch in on myself, thinking maybe if I make myself smaller my _obscene_ stench won’t be quite so noticeable…

The driver seems to know where we are headed, and for once my curiosity is overwhelmed by an almost-devastating exhaustion.

“Rey.” If Ben wants to talk right now, I doubt I’m going to be able to say anything articulate…I can barely hold a thought, let alone a conversation.

“Rey.” My eyelids drift shut in the darkened, quiet extravagance of this limo.

My head lolls back onto the seat, and I feel Ben pull me into his side. Fuck. He feels good. Just the right amount of warm, hard muscles, and soft, clean-smelling clothes.

I wonder what his naked chest tastes like. I know it _looks_ incredible. I snuggle my head into him a bit more and drift deeper into thought.

And I’m not sleeping, not entirely, but neither am I fully awake. I’m just resting my eyes.

“Mitaka,” Ben says, and it takes me a second to understand he’s talking to the driver. “Change of plans.”

I don’t hear or see anything else until we stop in front of a huge skyscraper in downtown Manhattan. I can see a large entrance to the building half a block away, with circular doors and well-dressed people scurrying about looking very busy and important, even though it is evening and a Saturday at that.

 _Where are we?_ I wonder in a daze. _Are we going in there?_

But the limo parks in front of a black and red awning with an actual _red_ carpet underneath, right there on the sidewalk. It leads into a more discreet entrance of this massive building.

“Come on. You can come up to my place and have a shower. And then we can talk…” His voice is low, seductive, even, and my brain is short-circuiting over the words “my place” and “shower.”

“You live here?” I ask stupidly, blinking my eyes to adjust to the blast of cold air rushing in when the driver opens door of the limo…

Ben gives me this inscrutable stare. As if he can’t decide if I’m slow or just out of it.

“I _own_ here.” Ben says flatly, shuffling me out of the limo and following without a backward glance.

I pause, craning my neck to peer dubiously up before I step under the awning.

He … owns _here_? This skyscraper is _huge_ , and I abruptly realize I know exactly which building this is…

We are standing in front of Skywalker Tower. Just over one-thousand feet of very impressive black glass and chrome and steel.

_Oh._

_Oh. Holy fuck._

Now I’m really starting to understand what’s happening and I don’t feel so hot.

My stomach clenches and I thank my lucky stars there’s nothing in it to puke up.

Because I am…maybe going to be sick.

This guy.

This guy, Ben.

He is not just some random dude I’ve been getting my kicks with online…

He’s fucking Benjamin Rian Solo, son of Leia Organa-Solo, grandson of Anakin Skywalker and heir to an empire worth billions.

Ben Solo. One of the wealthiest people on the planet. As in Earth.

This guy isn’t just loaded.

He’s got more money than God.

_Fuck me._

My entire game plan changes instantly as my brain reshuffles the deck for a re-deal.

New game, new rules, new _everything_.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, and now I get it. I really _get_ it…oh.

I get it so hard it’s going to make me pass out if I don’t also get a grip.

…I’m going to take this guy for as much as I can, while I can, for as long as I can.

“We _do_ need to have a talk. Before I go anywhere with you,” I tell him. “I have some conditions…”

I force myself to sound authoritative, although I have absolutely no power here, standing on a piece of real estate worth more than half the country earns in a year…owned by _him_.

He immediately reads my acquisitive – okay, greedy – intentions and I can tell the instant he knows...

And all of a sudden, pissed-off, furious, scary-dangerous Ben is back. _Dammit_.

He grips my arm so hard it’s going to bruise, and I yelp like a terrified little kid because I _am_ terrified…and he is way bigger than I am. And now I’ve pissed him off.

I really need to work on managing my facial expressions a little better.

I can’t twist away from his manacle-like grip, and the harder I pull, the more brutally he squeezes, even as he hustles me into the building with this fucking _sinister_ look on his face.

Not for the first time that day, I wonder if he is going to murder me.

A uniformed doorman sweeps the door open at our approach and doesn’t bat an eye over the fact I am very obviously trying to wrench my arm out of Ben’s grip and trying to get away from him…

“Let me go, you fucking creep!” I yell belligerently.

My words echo through the vast lobby and Ben doesn’t say a word, he just propels me across the immaculate black marble, veined richly with white and gold, to a bank of elevators.

I look for help but aside from the doorman, now back outside, and a young woman in a dark grey uniform standing by the elevators, nobody’s around.

I look at her and shout, “I don’t want to go with him! Help me!”

Ben doesn’t say a word, and the young woman ignores me completely as she leans inside the elevator to push a button for the top floor.

I spend about three whole seconds wondering what kind of wealth allows for a person to pay another person to stand outside an elevator all day, waiting for what seems to be the sole purpose of pushing a button…so _he_ doesn’t have to.

We are fully in his world, now. I am not going to get any help. From anyone.

The elevator doors slide closed and I holler at the button-girl, “If I end up dead this is your fault! I hope you know! You’re an accomplice –”

We are moving smoothly upward.

I think.

Ben has people who literally spend their days waiting for him to walk through doors and ride elevators …and as much as I like to think I have _any_ power whatsoever here, I really am starting to comprehend that I might not have as much as I think.

I mean. I have myself, and my autonomy, and my private thoughts, and my ability to fight back…and that is a power of sorts.

I also know deep down I have the power to drive _Kylo_ crazy, a power which I admit I may have liberally abused and enjoyed…Kylo is always so remarkably easy to twist into knots.

Kylo is Ben. It’s weird, but I still think of them as different people…

And at the moment I don’t know if I am dealing with Ben or Kylo, but I am afraid it is Ben.

Kylo might be the dirty, kinky, unrestrained, and easier to control side of Ben, but the _other_ version, the _real_ Ben, is going to be much more spoiled and ruthless and difficult to manipulate.

A challenge.

Ben glowers at me and flings my arm away. The momentum of it forces me to back hard against the opposite wall of the elevator. I try not to flinch at the unexpected movement, but I decide it might be best to stay small. Give the appearance of meekness. I glare at him, though.

Unperturbed, he scoffs at me cowering there, “God. Calm down. Stop being such a drama queen.”

I open my mouth to say something rude. _Drama queen_ kind of stings my pride…I rub my arm where he’d gripped it.

“You’re fine,” he says derisively shaking his head. “Quit being such a baby.”

Technically, he’s right. I’m fine. Also, I really have nowhere else to go, and I really, really don’t want to go to jail for all the bad shit I did today.

He really _hasn’t_ hurt me. He drugged me, sure, but I would put money on that being part of some elaborate, bored-rich-guy game, not because of anything too sinister.

I still blame him for scaring the crap out of me to the point I felt it necessary to steal a cop car and hijack another car, though.

And for that, I’m going to make him pay. He can afford it.

And part of me still wants to take this guy for as much as I can get.

Actually. A large part of me. And the more of an asshole he is, the more it makes me want to fuck with him.

He might think he is in charge here, but I am pretty sure I know how to get to Kylo, if not Ben. They’re the same fucking person, after all.

I sniff and do my very best to ignore him for the remainder of the elevator ride.

He seems fine with it and ignores me back.

_Good. Fine._

I need time to think, anyhow.

We get to the very top floor and the elevator doors slide open to reveal more black marble, a huge entryway, fabulous blown-glass chandelier, and a massive painting that I’m pretty sure is either a Manet or Monet or something original and priceless and _shit_.

This is just the entryway. My heartrate kicks up a notch. My headache is gone.

I hope I’m not gaping. I mentally check to make sure my tongue isn’t hanging out.

I blurt out the first question that comes to mind, before I can stop myself. “Tell me you don’t have some kind of sex dungeon up here…”

He cocks his head at me, stopping mid-stride.

His lips quirk in a humorless grin and his dark eyes glint like polished obsidian, reflecting absolutely nothing back to me.

“I don’t need a sex dungeon. I don’t need restraints.”

I swallow and try to bluster my way through this staring contest. I know I’m going to lose, but I still want to rebel.

_Why? Why don’t you need restraints? You just drag your women here like a caveman? Drug them?_

Before I say something utterly stupid out loud and get myself kicked out before I can have a hot shower and maybe some food all in the name of damned pride and not much else, I lick my lips and nod.

His dark eyes flicker and I can see he really likes that. When I _agree_. When I submit.

 _Submissive. Okay. I can try that_ …but I have a feeling I suck at it.

However. I’m willing to try something new in the name of getting my hands on some cheddar.

He turns and leads me through the entryway.

I follow him into the main living area and I do my best to look as if I’m _not_ casing the place.

To my surprise, someone is in the open kitchen, mixing a drink. The hairs at the back of my neck prickle without warning.

He’s handsome, slighter than Ben, with elegant bone structure and pretty copper hair. He wears a plain white, V-neck t-shirt. He has a scruffy beard, but one that looks contrived to be that way, not because he’s actually an unkempt person.

In fact. This man looks as if he starches his underwear and irons his socks…

Have you ever met someone you just instantly _hated_?

He blinks at Ben before his piercingly-blue eyes run over me with blatant contempt.

“What dumpster did you dig _that_ out of?” he sneers. Upper-class, British accents are so easy on the ears even when brimming with disdain…

Ah. Good. The instant hatred is mutual, then.

“Hux…play nice,” Ben growls warningly. “Nobody likes a jealous lover.”

Ben walks around to stand behind and drape an arm around the man’s neck and chest, resting his chin on the man’s shoulder. Hux. His name is Hux.

Ben smiles and his eyes smolder into mine.

It’s surprisingly sexy. More than sexy. My belly flutters at the sight.

Hux glares at me like he wishes I would catch on fire or turn into a pillar of salt.

“I’m keeping her for a little while…I’ll bet she cleans up really good, don’t you think?” Ben murmurs into Hux’s neck, just loud enough for me to hear. He stares at me and I once again get this catlike, predatory vibe from him.

It’s unsettling to say the least.

Hux snorts disagreeably and goes back to mixing his drink.

 _What did I just walk into?_ I wonder. _And where’s that hot shower?_

As if he reads my mind, Ben steps away from Hux and nods at the floating staircase behind me. This whole place is _unreal_ , a combination of extreme modernism and very, very old art, and I promise myself I will explore the architectural wonders later, if I have a chance.

“Shower’s upstairs, last door on the right.” Ben winks at me, mercurial as ever. As if the last ten minutes of bristling ire and supercilious condescension never happened.

He pulls out a phone, almost identical to the one I destroyed earlier only silver instead of black and proceeds to completely ignore both me and Hux.

I nod, feeling like an awkward, grubby kid. I don’t want to ask for anything to eat because for some reason it would be humiliating, like begging for scraps. And I don’t want to beg for _anything_ in front of Ben’s…boyfriend. Or whoever the fuck that guy is.

As I make my way upstairs, I hear Hux hiss, “Are you sure she’s even housebroken, Ren?”

Yeah. Fuck that guy with a sixteen-inch strap-on and no Vaseline.

Upstairs is more modern design mixed with fabulous art and I force myself not to stop and stare at every pretty little thing I come across.

The whole place probably has cameras everywhere. Is that something super-rich people do? I certainly feel as if I am being watched.

I can’t explain it, but the feeling doesn’t go away, even though I know it’s probably just my overactive imagination.

The last door on the right leads to an enormous master suite with a balcony. I peek through the floor-to-ceiling windows and notice the balcony has stairs going down to a large, lit swimming pool on a patio below.

Across from the balcony is a bathroom. More marble, more luxury, although my brain is becoming rather numb to it all…

I head inside and strip out of my clothes, digging out the last of my cash from inside my shoe.

It’s folded up and slightly damp from my sweaty, sockless foot. After the hotel room, the bribe to the hotel clerk, and paying for the passport I will probably never go back for, I have about four hundred bucks.

It’s more than I started the day with. And somehow still not even close to enough.

_You also started the day without a criminal record…_

_Think about that later._

Shower first.

I look around the bathroom for a good place to hide my money.

Under the sink seems like a good spot, except I just can’t quite imagine it being safe enough from a maid’s thorough eyes…

I would try the toilet tank, but the toilet is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I glance over it and discover I am not even sure how to flush the damn thing.

Fucking rich people.

The bathroom is pretty minimalist.

Finally, I twist the chrome towel bar, which loosens after a few minutes of prying at it. I roll up my money, pushing it inside the hollow metal tube, before replacing the bar.

 _Security_.

Speaking of which.

I belatedly realize I left Tico’s gun back in the limo.

Shit. I’m honestly not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.

The way Hux was glaring at me earlier…a gun might not be a bad thing to have…

The bathroom is huge, and the tiled shower takes up one whole side, with a window to the outside so I can see an amazing view of Manhattan from up here.

I step into the hot, steamy spray and try to understand why I feel so vulnerable. I sincerely hope the window is one-way glass, although I’m not usually so self-conscious.

Which is weird.

I know I am out of my element.

I also know I am a wanted criminal…although that doesn’t bother me as much as it should.

What _really_ bothers me, I finally decide, with a scalp full of lather from Ben’s _amazing_ shampoo, is how effortlessly Ben is getting what he wants out of me.

I’m hardly putting up a fight at all.

Aside from the whole incident earlier after he got pulled over…

I rinse my hair and add some conditioner, then grab a loofah and start scrubbing myself while I ponder.

Ben talked me into meeting up with him so _easily_. Within five minutes of our meeting for the first time, I let him fuck me…

He drugged me. I ran away. He found me again, and I just…what? Went with him?

Kylo _never_ would have gotten to me so easily… No. Wait. They are the same fucking person…

I can’t figure it out, and frankly I am too tired to care.

I finally finish my shower and riffle through the medicine cabinet. I find a toothbrush and I’m pretty sure it’s Ben’s but really, who cares? It’s not like he hasn’t already given me cooties, if he has any to give…

And that’s _another_ thing.

He has a boyfriend or a roommate with benefits or whatever. How do I really know he’s clean? I let him fuck me without a condom.

Shit.

I’m going to have to worry about that later.

Right now, I need to figure out how I’m going to take Ben Solo for all he’s worth...

My mind starts coming up with options.

Option one: _Marriage_ …but no fucking way he’d marry me. And even if he did, there would be so many prenups and legal bullshit…and I don’t want to be _that_ attached to him. I don’t want to be tied down…

I just want some _money_.

Option two is an “accidental” pregnancy. But that won’t work, and frankly, I’m not the maternal type. A touch of guilt slithers through me when I think about the woman and her baby when I hijacked that car…

Plus, I can’t get pregnant right away. I just renewed my Depo shot last week and it’s six months before I need another one. And I’m not planning on dicking around with this guy for that long.

Finally, my brain lands on sugar daddy as a third option.

Well. Maybe not sugar daddy, but something along those lines… Ben’s not really the doting type. He’s never mentioned a daddy kink in our online chats, and I can imagine him calling me a dirty little slut a heck of a lot easier than his precious little princess.

He’s not into that. He’s not the princess-fucking type.

So. What type is he?

_I don’t need a sex dungeon. I don’t need restraints._

I think about the look on his face when I emptied his wallet. _That_ , he’d been expecting. But when I took his credit card?

I think he kind of liked it…

_Why? Why did he like it?_

I wonder and wonder as I find his razor and run it under my arms and briefly over my bikini line.

I’ll have to do a more thorough job later…

_Why did he like it when I took his credit card? Why doesn’t he need restraints?_

This is a guy who can take anything he wants. Literally.

I feel like I’m really onto something, here.

He wants something he can’t buy? Mmmm. Close.

He wants to earn it… He’s not into easy? Eh. We’re getting there…

Ah. I know.

He likes the mind games, the mental control. That’s why I was able to drive Kylo so crazy. Because I wasn’t telling Kylo what I was up to…Kylo had no control over me…

**_If I ever get my hands on you…someday I’m going to make you pay for messing with me, you know that?_ **

That’s why he fucked me in the most humiliating place he could find...for revenge. 

He’s … the kind of guy who is into power and manipulation and making sure people understand he’s the boss. Especially his hookups? No, his _sluts_.

And I can definitely be a slut.

I find a comb and run it through my hair, which feels soft and smells so good thanks to Ben’s awesome hair product. I eye my filthy clothes on the floor of the bathroom.

No fucking way I’m wearing those again.

I tug a plush, Egyptian-cotton towel around myself, and head back into the bedroom, planning on digging through Ben’s clothes to find something to wear.

But a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of pink and gray plaid pajama bottoms sit on the bed. Obviously waiting for me.

I bite my cheek.

There is no way I’m going to come across as a sexy hookup/wannabe sugar baby/hard-to-get slut in this getup. And I _really_ need to leverage my looks if I’m going to entice Ben into making any kind of financial arrangement with me in exchange for sex.

I need to sweeten the pot. 

I ignore the clothes on the bed and head for the walk-in closet, instead.

It smells _so good_ in here.

I’m digging through his clothes, noticing labels and designers and wondering how much money he’s spent on his wardrobe.

I’m so wrapped up in finding the perfect button-down shirt to slip into, I don’t hear the door open.

And then I find the gun.

Different from Officer Tico’s gun. A revolver. A .38 Special. Good. Less chance of a misfire…

I flip it open and see it is loaded.

I wonder if I can hide it somewhere, so I can take it with me if I need to.

“Find what you were looking for?” A furious masculine voice asks as I whirl around and point the gun at him.


	5. Your Cake Is Dough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll! Strap in. Things are going to get a bit wild from here on out. PLEASE review the tags. Your comments and kudos keep me alive. ENJOY your Cake.

# Chapter Five – Your Cake Is Dough

 

For his part, Ben looks supremely unconcerned over the fact I am pointing a loaded gun at him for the second time today.

He does look pretty irate, though. Rage pours off him like radiation.

The smart thing would be for me to immediately lower the gun and “accidentally” drop my towel and distract him and hope for the best…

But…I guess I’m just not that smart.

Because once again I am crawling with this overriding paranoia that Ben is dangerous and bad and is going to hurt me.

The livid fury glowing from his beautiful dark eyes is enough to make me grip the gun harder. Again, I am shocked at my rock-steady hands. Why am I not trembling?

_Calm down. Assess the situation._

He’s chewing the inside of his cheek as he watches me languorously, brows drawn into a deadly scowl as if I am the bane of his existence. As if he hasn’t brought me here half against my will…as if _I’ve_ done something wrong…

I step further into the closet, instinctively keeping my distance from those long legs and arms of his. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he could kick the gun out of my hand or try to take it from me.

His plush mouth twists into a sneer and I know he thinks he’s backing me into a corner.

Which he is.

The only way out of this closet is through him. So. Either I shoot him or…

“You’re not going to shoot me,” he states matter-of-factly. His voice is low, hypnotic.

Oh, but I _might_ shoot him. If he keeps sending out these creepy-stalker-I-want-to-kill-you vibes… Yep. I’ll shoot him dead and worry about getting rich later…

While I’m deciding on whether or not to kill him with his own gun amongst his gorgeous designer wardrobe, he starts talking.

“Rey. You are really making things worse for yourself, you know that?”

“Worse? How?”

What could be worse than this? I’m trapped. Nobody has any idea of where I am, and if I do manage to escape, I’m sure the FBI is probably looking for me right now…

“You know what? One of the great things about having as much money as I have is I can basically do whatever I want.”

He steps toward me.

I swallow. I’m not scared of this loser.

“I can go anywhere. Do _anything_. Rewrite history if I need to…make people disappear…”

Okay. That _is_ fucking scary. I suck in a lungful of air.

I’m trying and failing not to show him how scared I am.

He narrows his eyes. He’s… _savoring_ this. He continues, “Not just like kill someone. No, I mean…I can erase their entire identity…their entire existence…”

 _What is he getting at?_ He’s toying with me and I just want him to spit it out.

He bites his cheek again and runs his gaze over me. I try to imagine what I look like to him, wrapped in a towel, my wet hair sticking to my neck and forehead, hand holding his .38 Special. I glare at him ferociously.

“I hope you don’t mind…”

“Mind _what_?” I hiss.

“I…uh…already erased you…”

_What the fuck???_

“After you stole that cop car. I took care of things, so you don’t have to worry about being followed by the cops.”

I almost, _almost_ drop the gun at those words.

“What do you mean you ‘erased’ me?”

I’m trying to process this information, to break it into digestible pieces.

I have no identity? Like, my student visa? My transcripts at university? My lease? My phone and ID were in my backpack, and I have no idea where those got to.

“I mean. I made a few calls. There’s no evidence of anything ever happening this morning. There’s no evidence you even exist as of twelve minutes ago.”

Um. So, I don’t have a ton of friends and I have no family whatsoever. I can’t think of anyone in my life who might actually miss me if I were to disappear.

It’s kind of depressing, really. Although I think Ben wants me to feel relieved? No. He’s not that nice. He wants me to understand just exactly how fucked I am.

My terror rapidly ascends to new heights.

If I don’t exist, then he really can do anything he wants to me. Nobody’s coming for me.

I have never felt so alone until right now, right here, in this closet.

As of this moment, it seems I have nothing in the world but four-hundred bucks stashed in the bathroom, a very nice towel, and a black Taurus .38 Special with five bullets in it.

And a plan.

A half-baked plan.

“Why did you…do that?” I ask instead of shooting him.

 _Why did you erase me?_ Just thinking it gives me chills, but I need a minute to figure out how to play this. So, I will try to keep him talking.

“Because I want to _play_ with you and I don’t want you to worry about getting _grounded_.” He chuckles and the dark sound sends tingles down my spine.

He’s enjoying this. Having fun with this. It’s…exciting for him.

His chest rises and falls just slightly too fast. He keeps saying stuff like… “play with” or “play games.”

Yes. Definitely a bored billionaire. A little bit psycho, but…

I think I can work with this.

He reads me so easily, it’s infuriating. I really, really need to get better at hiding my emotions…

“I can play. For a price,” I tell him firmly. I’m using my best stern voice, reminding myself this is Kylo and I can twist him into knots all day long. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.

“You want money, I assume?” he mutters in semi-disgust. Is he disappointed? Surprised? “That’s what you meant downstairs? Your conditions?”

Obviously, he can read me like a book, even if I can’t get a damn thing out of _him_. Okay, fine.

“I do want money.” I tell him. I keep my voice agreeable. _I want money. I know you want me. Let’s make a deal._

This guy’s poker face is unreal. “Well, money I have…but what am I _getting_ for my money, Rey? I already fucked you, and as good as your sweet little cunt feels… it’s nothing special…” As if we aren’t bargaining over something so sordid as sex for money. As if he’s mildly interested in buying a book or a painting or…

He shakes his head ruefully as if to say _I know what I want, too, and I’m not sure I’m interested..._

This conversation has zero to do with sex. But I know exactly what he wants.

“First things first, Kylo…” His eyes snap to mine at the name _Kylo_ … “We should talk money. A _lot_ of money…”

“How much is a lot?” he counters blithely.

“Fifty.” I bluff like nobody’s business when I have to. I also know how to shoot for the moon.

“Fifty thousand is a lot of money for a little girl like you,” he murmurs sleekly.

I shake my head _no_ and he lifts an eyebrow at me.

“Fifty _million_.” I tell him. I figure that’s about one-half of one-percent of his net worth. A drop in the bucket for someone like him, if my math is right. And I am really good at math.

He doesn’t laugh in my face at the number. The painting in the entryway of this penthouse is probably worth twice what I’m asking for.

He’s holding himself very still. Contemplating.

This isn’t about the number. And he knows it. This is about comparative worth. He is weighing my desire for a small fortune against his opportunity to use me for…whatever he wants.

Because at the end of the day, he’s a man just like any other. And if I know anything about men, it’s that they will do whatever they think they can get away with. And if they can push their toe over the line…they will. And Ben Solo? He doesn’t have any lines. He doesn’t have anyone to stop him except for whoever happens to be on the receiving end of his formidable will.

Ben’s bored. Which is why he spent all day chasing me down. Which is why this is going to work.

“What’s my fifty million going to buy me, baby?”

This is the part of negotiation that I suck at. Sticking to my guns, I raise a brow at him.

“Anything you want. For two weeks.”

He puffs his lips and lets out a noise somewhere in between a “whoo” and a “whoa”…

“You can buy any hooker you want, true. But they have rules. Limitations. I won’t.” I quickly amend, “I won’t have as many.”

“I’m intrigued.” I can see by the way he’s watching me he wants to come closer. He’s holding himself so carefully motionless…I know I’m right. I hope I have the guts to follow through with this.

Because now he’s definitely tempted…

“Conditions?” he purrs. “You have at least one or two?” I swallow a surge of bile at the diabolical gleam in his eye. _Fuck. What does this guy want to do to me?_

My brain rapidly considers his question. Obviously, I need to set _some_ ground rules. Although I’m open to a lot. For fifty fucking million dollars I’m open to just about anything...

“Nothing lethal. I don’t want to be a _dead_ millionaire.”

“Fair enough. Although, I’m sure you know…accidents happen,” he bares his teeth at me and I fight to keep from flinching away. I’m sure he’s thinking of the pure dumb luck I didn’t accidentally blow his brains out earlier when I shot out the tire of his car.

“Nothing permanently disfiguring,” I continue, although a few scars or scratches might be expected. Who knows what this guy is into?

I mean. I know a little, or so I think. From our online chatting. But I’m starting to get the feeling he was just toying with me…

“Anything else?” he mutters. His eyes are practically dancing, glittering with lust or violence or something I can’t put my finger on… and I start wondering just what the hell he is _really_ into…he looks…really excited about this.

“No kids. No animals.” Okay, that’s just insulting, and I can tell it’s pissing him off.

I suddenly feel like I am being incredibly stupid and might be making a huge mistake.

Before he can interrupt me, I add, “If I decide I’m done…then I walk away free and clear at any time.”

I’m thinking of the passport I’ll have waiting for me and the pitiful four-hundred bucks rolled up in the towel bar of his bathroom.

“How will I know if you’re _done_ …if you’re incapacitated in some way?” he asks, eyes glowing like the Devil’s.

“Assuming I wake up after?” I spit at him. “I’m sure I’ll let you know!”

 _Shit. Incapacitated?_ I sincerely hope he’s fucking around. Testing my resolve.

But then I think of fifty million dollars. I think of what I might be willing to let _anyone_ do for that kind of money.

The moral line I’ve been drawing for myself all day is quickly dissolving under the idea of being very, very wealthy.

I guess I’d do just about anything for…

“Just so we’re both clear on the terms of your proposed deal. You want me to give you fifty-million dollars at the end of two weeks. And other than not killing you, maiming you, or involving you with children or animals…you will do whatever I tell you?”

I nod.

“So, if I want to keep you locked in this closet for the next two weeks and let Hux in here to have his way with you…you’re okay with that?”

I swallow. I hadn’t considered that…fucking his friends…

Fifty-million dollars though. I can get over it when I’m rich.

I nod. “Anything.”

As if he can read my mind he asks quietly, “You really mean that, don’t you?”

I nod again.

Besides. I have a feeling he’s going to want to play some mind games and have some moderately kinky sex, get his power trip out of his system, and feel like a badass for a while.

He can buy anything he wants. But the thing about buying is … somebody has to be willing to sell.

And I am. Willing.

I can take mind games. I can take kinky sex. I can handle this egotistical jerkoff.

Because I know who I am. And deep down, that is something he can’t take away from me.

I wonder what he must be like at a contract negotiation or some major business deal or whatever the fuck he does all day to keep the money flowing into his trust fund.

“Well,” he says finally. “I’m game if you are. But…I’ll need a gesture of good faith before I draw up the contracts.”

Damn. And here’s the sticking point. I am going to have to lower the gun.

I’m going to have to trust he won’t just take it and blow my head off and get my blood and brains all over his beautiful closet.

I’m going to have to trust he will do as he’s promising and draw up some kind of contract or whatever we need to do to make sure this deal is a legit thing. That sounds like something a rich person would do. Doesn’t it?

I’m going to have to give him something, so we aren’t stuck in a perpetual game of chicken.

Otherwise, we are going to be at a standoff until one of us passes out. And between the two of us, I’m definitely the weaker right now. At least. _Physically_.

So, I lower the gun, holding it loosely at my side. My arm was getting tired, anyhow.

He inhales, and it draws my attention to the unbelievably sculpted pecs under his shirt. His dark hair curls around his face and neck, and his eyes, nearly black in the dim lighting of the closet, devour me. I can feel the weight of his gaze on my naked skin.

He crooks his finger at me. _Come here._

I can’t hesitate, not after I’ve literally just promised him I’ll do whatever he wants.

So, I stride across the plushly carpeted floor, barefoot, and stand in front of him.

He holds out his hand in a gesture so reminiscent of earlier when I took his wallet, the irony makes my mouth quirk up unwillingly.

_Okay. Here’s your gun back, Ben. I’m serious. I meant it. Fifty million and I’ll –_

I hand it to him and lick my lips.

His eyes darken, and his scowl becomes positively demonic.

“Kneel,” he mouths so quietly if I wasn’t staring at his lips I’d have to ask him to repeat himself.

I sink to my knees. Okay. A blow job I can do. And then maybe something real to eat…

“Lose the towel,” he intones, and he points the gun right between my eyes. I know that gun is loaded. Does he?

My heart is kicking inside my chest. What if…what if he…?

At this point…I might pass out. The cold metal of the gun rests against my forehead and my heart is thundering like never before.

Fuck. Is…this is just part of his little power game…right?

I’ve already had … quite a day. And now this? It’s weird, but I suddenly realize I have no control right now. If I die, I die. If I live…well…

Fifty million dollars. I can do this.

I can do this.

I mentally brace myself and throw caution to the wind. It’s out of my hands, now.

“Put your hands behind your head. And don’t move,” he snarls.

I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye.

It’s Hux.

“ _He_ wants you to call him right away,” Hux says walking into the closet to stand next to Ben. He throws me an evil little smirk before handing Ben his phone.

“Hux.” Ben’s voice is soft and silky like his hair. “Help Rey, won’t you? My hands are full…and if she moves hers I’ll have to blow a hole in her pretty little face…”

He strokes the barrel of the gun from my temple to my jaw. It is much more difficult than I’d presumed it would be to _not_ melt into a terrified puddle on the floor and beg for mercy.

Hux moves to stand behind Ben and Ben is too tall for me to see Hux’s expression. But I see pale, manicured hands wrap around Ben’s waist from behind, pulling Ben’s shirt up just enough to expose that delicious trail of dark hair that leads from his navel to his groin.

Hux’s hands move unerringly to the fly of Ben’s jeans, unzipping in a slow, practiced motion, and I am struck so strongly by a sense of deja-vu I nearly exclaim out loud.

Ben is punching his thumb against the face of the phone in his other hand, and before I know it he says, “Smile, baby.”

I look at him, incredulous as I hear a familiar little electronic click.

Fucker just took a picture of me. Again.

Nevertheless, the cold metal of that .38 is resting lightly against my temple. Best not to tempt fate.

Hux’s hands tug down the jeans around Ben’s hips, lightly stroking over the delineated muscle there. Fascinated, I watch his hand slide into Ben’s boxer briefs and Ben gives a low moan.

This is all happening inches in front of my face and its oddly a turn-on. In spite of the gun. In spite of my irritation. In spite of Hux being part of any of this.

Ben shifts his weight slightly and I realize he is making a phone call, even as Hux pulls Ben’s hardening cock free, lowering the waistband of Ben’s boxers to expose the growing length.

A pale hand begins pumping up and down the shaft, while the other hand grips Ben’s hip, holding him steady.

“Fuck,” Ben hisses, cracking his neck before holding the cell phone up to his ear.

It’s bewildering to watch, I realize, because Hux has obviously done this before, and again obviously knows exactly what to do to get Ben hard with a minimal amount of effort.

It’s intimidating. Maybe Ben was right when he said I’m nothing special…

“It’s me,” Ben mutters into the phone. Hux moves his hand from Ben’s hip to my head and without prelude shoves Ben’s cock into my face with his other hand.

“Yes, sir.” A lengthy pause. Ben taps the side of my head with the .38 and I take him into my mouth.

Up close and personal, this really is a gorgeous cock, long and thick and ridged with veins, engorged and flushed red, the flared head nearly purple. It occurs to me I’ve only seen pictures before…and yet it is very familiar.

I start bobbing my head up and down, stroking the underside of his dick with my tongue while Hux’s fist pumps firmly at the base, since there’s no way this is all going to fit in my mouth.

Apparently, this is going to be a team effort…

Hux’s hand tangles in my hair, angling my head and I am trying to keep track of Ben’s phone conversation.

“It won’t be an issue, sir. No…”

Another pause. An evil little part of me wonders what happens if I make a sound.

I hum and really start sucking as Ben starts pushing his hips rhythmically against us. Hux chuckles lewdly and whispers, “Oh, she likes that…”

For his part, Ben keeps his voice even as he finishes his call before he flings his phone to the side.

Then he grips my other side with his now free hand and starts fucking into my face in earnest, his dark head flung back against Hux’s shoulder as he stares down at me with an impossibly greedy look on his face.

“Yes, she does…You like that, baby girl?” It’s ridiculous how much I like it when Ben acknowledges me.

I hum again, letting saliva coat him liberally, letting my cheeks hollow as I stare up at him.

“Such an eager little gutter slut…” he moans, almost fondly. “Aren’t you?”

Hux’s hand bumps against my lips as he continues pumping, but I pretend it’s Ben’s hand. I pretend there is no gun pointed at my head.

I pretend like the only thing I care about is sucking this cock.

I can do anything for fifty million dollars.

“I changed my mind, Ren. I think we should keep her,” Hux grunts.

Ben grips my head harder and is bumping against the back of my throat, now. He’s getting close and I’m…getting wet from this.

He comes in hot spurts on a ragged groan and a series of jerking thrusts that make me gag. Suddenly my mouth is full of the salty, dusky taste of him, and I swallow reflexively, careful to keep my hands behind my head.

Ben’s breathing is uneven, and he stares at me with this unreadable look on his face.

“I agree…We are _definitely_ keeping her,” Ben smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

He lifts the gun away from my head and I smile back at him, relieved. He swings his arm back, and I never see it coming when he pistol whips me hard enough to knock me out cold.

 

I wake up utterly disoriented in a moving car. This time I’m in the back seat, lying against someone warm and hard.

The car…I’m in a town car or something. Dark. Leather. Expensive.

I’m wearing…what the fuck am I wearing? A strappy dress. Sequins. Low cut. Uncomfortable shoes are cutting into my feet. Straps. Sandals.

I move my hand to brush my hair out of my face. My hair. It’s lighter. _Did I get highlights?_

Purple-black bruises cover my wrist. Old bruises.

_What fucking day is it?_

I groan.

My body…hurts.

“Hey, baby, you waking up already?” Ben murmurs. I feel a large, warm hand stroking my hair.

_What the hell is happening?_

“Thirsty,” I whisper.

Ben hands me a bottle of water.

I almost take a sip, but I remember he can’t be trusted.

He unscrews the cap and takes several healthy swigs before tilting the bottle to my lips.

I gulp down as much as I can. Ben is surprisingly gentle as he holds the bottle for me.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Drink up.”

I realize I’m practically on top of him and I sit up. My head is _spinning_.

Before I can ask what is going on, Ben smiles at me. “Well, well. Aren’t you surprising?”

 _How?_ “How?” My throat hurts. My voice is scratchy and raw. From screaming?

“I never would have guessed you’d have followed through on your part of our bargain so…enthusiastically. That was a wild couple of weeks, baby.”

“What?” Couple of weeks? “Where are we going?”

“To get your money.” Ben’s phone starts buzzing and I lean away so he can answer it. He’s texting but watching me from the corner of his eye.

“Get my money from what?” I ask stupidly.

“Your fifty million. You earned it. Every penny.” Ben is watching me like a cat watching a mouse.

Fifty million dollars. Two weeks… It’s been two weeks already?

I can’t shake this feeling that something is wrong. I’m missing something.

I’m missing two weeks.

I can’t remember the past two whole fucking weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: “your cake is dough” means your plan came out half-baked.


	6. Be Sure to Clean Your Plate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll! Your comments are the absolute best and I LOVE every single one of you. I am LIVING to hear what you think about this update - it's a good one, I think. 
> 
> I hope you like it.
> 
> Enjoy your Cake. XOXO!

# Chapter Six - Be Sure to Clean Your Plate

“Where are we going?” I mumble, trying to get my bearings as the car runs over a pothole. I glance out the window and can see we are no longer in the city. I see trees and not much else. We are in the country, somewhere. But I have no idea why we need to be out here to get my money.

This is the first thing that sets my inner alarm bells to ringing.

Something is wrong _wrong wrong_.

I’m beginning to think we are _not_ headed to get my money.

But…he wants me to _think_ I am getting what I want… He watches me to make sure I believe him.

It’s the _way_ he’s watching me that adds to my inner panic. He looks at me as if he expects me to do something crazy…maybe attack him or jump out the door of the moving car or…I don’t know.

“Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

His rueful statement does not answer my question, not even remotely. But it does send shivers of fear and adrenaline ricocheting through me so powerfully my fingertips tingle with it.

_Does he know I can’t recall the past two weeks?_

_Does he know the last thing I remember is him knocking me out cold on the floor of his closet?_

I think he knows. He did something to me. To make me forget.

I would bet fifty million dollars we are _not_ going to get my money. I would bet another fifty million he did not intend for me to wake up just yet.

And now, he’s just toying with me.

_What the fuck did he do to me?_

A sinking dread drops into my gut like a hot stone, as I consider the idea that I am not going to be rich. I am not going to get paid.

This is a ruse and he is a liar.

He’s taking me somewhere and he wants me to stay calm.

He wants me to trust him. Why?

_Why is he lying?_

I am going to stay calm, passive, even, but every instinct in me screams _danger_. My intuition claws into my consciousness, seeking a logical answer as to _why_ I cannot remember the past two weeks. Why am I in this town car wearing a party dress and nothing else? Why is my left wrist black with bruises in the shape of a very large handprint?

_Why does everything hurt?_

I will play along. For now.

I sigh and rest my head on his chest, laying a false trail of trust, nice and thick. I _do not_ trust this person, but I can pretend like I do. And if settling my cheek against his warm, hard muscles will conceal my thoughts from his scrutiny, even better.  

He’s wearing a tux, but the tie is missing, and his shirt is half undone. It’s sexy as hell.

I burrow my face into the soft fabric of his crisp, white button-down shirt, unable to resist inhaling his delectable scent.

How can someone so scary smell so good?

It’s disarming.

And I need to focus.

I have no idea how long we’ve been in the car and my brief glimpses of the outside are partially blocked by the privacy glass between us and whoever is driving.

I’m totally regretting my earlier plan to make any kind of a deal with Ben. How could I have been so fucking stupid? Why would I trust him?

I think my attempts to manipulate him have backfired so spectacularly I am thankful just to be alive at this point. Because whatever he’s done and plans to do…it can’t be good.

This person is not my friend. This person is an enemy. A dangerous one.

But, I want him to believe I trust him. So as his arms wrap around me, I allow myself to be pulled into an embrace.

In spite of his lies and my disoriented mental state, I can’t help but cling to him just a little. I don’t trust him at all, but the way he’s holding me… It feels good. It doesn’t make sense, but it feels…comfortable. The heat from his body sinks into me providing an odd sense of security, even though I know it’s a lie.

He’s strong and warm and I’m just a little chilly in my skimpy, strappy party dress…I want to get closer. Just for a minute.

I wonder if I have a touch of Stockholm Syndrome.

He lifts me, setting me sideways across his sturdy thighs.  I press my lips against his neck and he hums encouragement.

This feels better, my being on top of him. It’s giving me a sense of control…maybe I can leverage this position and get some answers…

I scrape my nails lightly down his chest, and moan lightly. I try to ignore the violent-looking bruise on my wrist as it crosses my line of vision. Just on the one side. My other wrist looks fine.

 _I don’t need restraints._ His earlier proclamation passes through my mind.

“Has it really been two weeks already?” I ask, keeping my voice low and calm.

He murmurs noncommittally against my hair as I squirm deliberately in his lap.

I suck a gentle kiss into the side of his neck and lick my way up to his ear. I trace his ear with the tip of my tongue and suck his earlobe into my mouth, noting how his whole body trembles under mine when I do that.

“You like that, Ben?” I whisper against his neck.

He hums again, “Mmmmmm…baby, you know I love what you do with that mouth…”

Again, I have a very strong sense of déjà vu, although I know I’ve never done this before.

At least. Not that I can remember.

His hands wrap around my waist and he settles me over him in a straddle.

He’s smiling like the cat that ate the canary and cold terror slips down my spine in tandem with a rush of desire.

He knows. He knows exactly what I’m doing.

_Distract him._

So, I kiss him and grind my hips against his crotch.

_Disarm him._

He tastes like coffee and mint and a hint of sweetness. Maybe he had something sweet for breakfast?

His tongue slips into my mouth, gently and expertly sharing more of that elusive flavor. As if he knows what I’m wondering, and he wants to tell me.

It’s delicious.

Those lips, warm and firm and mobile against my own, draw an unwilling moan from me. I can’t help but think those lips were made to be used in every sinful way possible …

I wonder if at some point in the past two weeks those lips were anywhere else on my body…

I wish I could remember.

As if in answer to my question, he kisses a trail down my neck, hot breath and wet tongue drawing chills from my skin. “Mmmhhh, you taste so good,” he purrs, licking at me like a cat.

His teeth lightly scrape my collarbone. My head falls back as he growls against me. It’s so fucking sexy, I feel wet desire pool between my thighs…

I am not wearing any underwear, I realize. This awareness comes right in front of an even more surprising revelation: My pussy is _bald_. As in someone has removed all the hair, and I have no idea when or how it happened. Last time I checked, in Ben Solo’s shower, as a matter of fact, I had some hair down there.

And now I don’t. And…I can definitely feel… _everything_.

Well. Damn.

I’m going to ask him about it, try to get more out of him than these vague murmurs he’s giving me.

But the words won’t come.

And I put all my worries to the side for just a _minute_ because he’s pushed the front of my gown aside and wrapped that perfect fucking mouth around the tip of my breast and _fuuuuuuck_ …

This is a really bad idea. I shouldn’t be doing this, letting him distract me. I need to figure out why he’s told me we are going to get my money when we very obviously aren’t.

But first. He chuckles and licks his way to my other breast and it makes me so wet I wonder if I’m soaking through the fabric of his pants…he rolls his hips up, pushing his crotch against me. His hands slide under my very short dress, pushing the sparkly fabric up over my hips.

He pauses when my hand slides down between us to fondle the warm, hard heat of him.

“Yeah? One more time for the road?” he asks before returning his mouth to my puckered nipple. I can’t answer because he’s sucking on me hard, now, and I have no air in my lungs…

I whimper like a pathetic, helpless creature and push myself against him silently pleading for _more_ because I need more of that hot, wet suction pulling at me. I _need_ it and if he stops, I’ll die.

“Shit. Ben!” I groan raggedly against his silky dark hair.

I fumble to undo his trousers, so I can feel the hot, hard length of him in my hands.

Reading my intent, he braces one hand against me, forcing my back to arch against his mouth and slides his other hand between us to help me undo his belt.

I really do admire a multi-tasker.

His heated mouth pulls at me as if he only needs one thing in the world and it’s to suck on me as if his life depends on it. It’s making me clench and my thighs are already shaking and I’m almost _there_ , just from this.

He roughly bounces me back so I’m sitting farther down his leg. After a few jerky movements, his shorts and pants are pushed down his thighs, exposing the rigid length of his erection, heating my inner thigh as I hurry back to straddle him again, knees digging into the soft leather seat on either side of him. He slides a finger between my legs and gasps at how wet I am.

“Fuck, you’re so hot…” he grunts, pumping his finger into me a few times, curling it up to scrape against that _spot_. He does it until I’m writhing against his hand shamelessly, whimpering at each stroke, knowing I’m soaking his finger and not giving a solid fuck about it.

His eyes are almost black with lust and smoldering into mine as if we have all the time in the world. As if we are completely alone…I’ve forgotten someone is driving this car. I’ve forgotten everything except for how much I want him.

He stops, slipping his fingers away from me and I whine at the loss of that luscious pressure.

“Goddamn, I love the smell of your pussy,” he murmurs. He sucks his wet finger into his mouth and I can’t look away.

He draws the tip of his finger over my parted lips, and maybe this isn’t the kinkiest thing I’ve ever done, but it feels like the most…intimate, with him watching while I take my turn to suck my own juices and his saliva from his wet fingertip.

I wonder what else happened over the last two weeks, what else I might have done that I cannot remember…

My breath catches. Something is almost _there_ , on the brink of entering my mind. I can almost reach it…

He scowls at me from under the inky dark hair falling over his brow, and I don’t know if it’s passion or frustration or what…

“Stop thinking so much, Rey,” he commands.

Part of me wants to resist, but … I don’t have time to dwell on it because his dick is hot and throbbing between my legs, bumping against me, seeking a way in. And I’m definitely going to let him in… I grind my hips against him and lick my lips.

Okay. I’ll think about things later.

He lifts me, and I kneel up a bit and together, we angle ourselves until I can feel the broad head of him pressing insistently against me, parting the flesh between my legs.

“I know exactly what you’re doing…” he tells me darkly, holding me over him for just a second. “Trying to distract me?”

Shit.

He bares his teeth at me, practically snarling the last words. “Trying to manipulate me? With your cunt?”

With a sudden thrust he pushes me down, impaling me on him.

Every muscle in my body quivers with the shock of his sudden intrusion, every cell in my brain focuses on the exquisite pleasure of that thrust. A raw scream scrapes against the back of my throat and he lifts my hips until he’s almost out.

“I already _own_ it, I can do whatever I _want_ with it, and you’re just along for the ride, sweetheart…”

And then he thrusts again with a vicious growl. I have a moment of acute clarity as I feel him _taking_ me, taking me over so completely there’s no turning back, there’s no way out.

He captures my lips with his again and starts bouncing me on him in earnest, gripping at my hips and grunting into my mouth random words… _tight, wet, my fucking perfect little cunt_ …

I’ve let him in and now he’s there, deep inside me and thrusting with a merciless rhythm I can’t match, I can only ride. I bounce on him, the wet, naked tips of my breasts catching against the fabric of his shirt before he arches me back and takes a nipple into his mouth.

He’s everywhere, pushing at me and pulling at me and I’m surrounded by hot breath and rough hands and wet lips and hard flesh pounding into me. I rest my elbows on his shoulders and grip his hair and let myself have just a few moments of insanity with this person who has done God only knows what to me for the past two weeks.

Right now I don’t care, and I _can’t_ care because he’s making the most sinful noises and glaring at me with so much… _hunger_ …and we are both panting and grunting and working my hips over his until he’s biting his lip and he’s deep in me, until he’s rubbing against my clit.

“Yes, fuck yes, just like that, just like that, oh, fuck, yes,” I chant as warm heat claws through me.

“Like this?” he growls, pushing himself against me in that steady, pounding rhythm. “You close?”

_I’m going to come, fuck, I’m going to come so hard…_

“Oh, fuck, yes!” I groan against him as tight, hot pleasure coalesces right at the spot where his cock is digging into me, and I feel those clenching spasms gripping at the flesh inside me, release flooding under my skin in waves of near-agony…

He lets me finish before bracing his hands around my back, gripping onto my shoulders hard enough to bruise as he rams up into me. It hurts. He’s big and I’m already sore, but he only needs a handful of thrusts before he moans loudly, gazing at me furiously as he comes, too.

A light sheen of perspiration covers us both and we stare at each other for just a minute in the aftermath of…whatever that was.

He’s still inside me when the car stops. I turn my head to look outside, curious, but he turns my face back to his, tilting my chin so he can kiss me again.

His tongue pushes against mine, testing, tasting, feeding me the flavor of him. It’s mouthwatering, but…we’ve stopped outside a raggedy cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Awareness pours over me like ice water.

Everything is wrong. Wrong. Bad. Dangerous.

Have you ever had a dream where you find money or treasure or win the lottery? And throughout the whole dream you are just so happy to have money and maybe you spend it or hoard it or count it or check on it over and over again?

Until you wake up? And realize it was just your own subconsciousness fucking with you? And you are just as broke and screwed as you’ve always been because now you are awake for real?

That is the feeling swamping me right now. That is the feeling I have as I stare into the soft, thickly-lashed, amber-brown-green eyes of Ben Solo.

Like it was all a dream…and I just opened my eyes.

He wants me calm. He wants me disoriented. Why?

I am not here to get my money. He’s not planning on giving me jack shit…I don’t know _how_ I know this, but I do.

I pull away and he looks resigned. He can see it in my eyes, that I _know_. He can see I’m well aware of the situation, and he’s furious.

He mutters, “I really, really wish you hadn’t woken up, yet…”

“Dammit, Ben. Why?” My voice shakes and I hate it.

“Why couldn’t you just have stayed asleep for a few more fucking minutes?”

I open my mouth to answer him, but he cocks his head at me and places his finger over my lips in the universal demand for silence. Then he nods to the front of the car, indicating I should look.

I turn and for the first time notice Hux in the driver’s seat. At some point he’s rolled down the privacy window between us and based on the lewd smirk on his face, he’s been watching the whole show.

He’s pointing a very lethal-looking gun right at my face.

I turn back to Ben, shocked and mildly betrayed. Was Hux watching the whole time? And now he has a gun pointed at me?

Ben glowers at me for a full minute before lifting me off him and fixing his trousers, not bothering to tuck in his shirt.

“Out,” he snaps. I hear a loud thumping from the trunk of the car.

_Oh, fuck. What is this? Who the hell is in the trunk?_

Hux exits the car and moves around to open the trunk while I stumble out on shaky legs in my strappy six-inch heels onto a dirt-gravel driveway. A bedraggled cabin droops a few yards away, and I do not want to go in there.

I look around frantically for somewhere to run.

Ben climbs out of the car, looking for all the world like the evil, disheveled billionaire he is. He grips my arm and steers me to the cabin and I hear Hux grunt heavily. I look over my shoulder to see him lifting a person out of the trunk of the car.

_Shit. What is happening? Why am I here?_

Hux glances at us and calls out, “You should knock her out until it’s time, Ren.”

That suggestion sends panic ratcheting through me, and Ben grips my arm hard, hissing, “Be a good girl, or it’s sleepy time again, baby.”

“What are you doing?” I gasp, trying to wrench my arm from his iron grasp.

“I really don’t want to knock you out again…that poor little head of yours has already been scrambled like an egg…” he replies.

He’s moved us to the front porch of the cabin. The boards under my feet creak and sag from years of neglect.

Ben reaches around me and opens the door, muttering “ladies first” as if he expects me to go inside willingly. Fuck that. I brace my hand against the doorframe and try to push away.

I do not want to go in there.

I hear him curse and think to myself he sounds truly remorseful even as I feel him lift me and carry me into the cabin.

This is not a rustic, lets-enjoy-the-mountains-and-a-cup-of-cocoa kind of cabin. The walls are covered in moldy, peeling wallpaper. A single chair sits in the center of the room. A mattress on the floor holds a tattered sleeping bag.

Ben sets me on it and barks, “Don’t move, or you’ll fucking regret it.”

Okay. Okay. I will stay put. I nod meekly and pull the sleeping bag over me. I’m cold. It’s freezing in here.

Ben sighs and peels off his jacket, handing it to me.

I take it, but only because I’m freezing and scared. It’s not like I can do anything.

I have nowhere to go, anyway, and I’m still a little woozy from whatever the fuck I’ve been through.

Maybe drugs? Probably.

The bruise on my wrist speaks for itself.

I slide my arms into the still-warm tuxedo coat Ben gave me, then curl under the sleeping bag and doze off.

I wake up partway through what appears to be an interrogation.

Whoever they pulled out of the trunk of the car is tied to the chair in the middle of the room. Hux is nowhere to be seen.

“You’ll talk eventually, Dameron.” Ben is speaking. He sounds deadly. “I really, _really_ don’t want to do this…but she’s fucking broken, and Snoke wants her fixed. Or put down.”

“Not saying a thing, buddy,” a stranger’s voice states calmly. I peek over the edge of the sleeping bag and meet the eyes of a dark-haired stranger.

Ben stands in front of me, facing away.

“Actually,” the stranger says. “I’ll say one thing. So listen up.”

He’s looking at Ben, but he’s speaking to me. I know it.

I listen. Intently.

“Mr. Alderaan sends his regards. Ferry the black whistle. The ball is in your court, Scavenger. Execute mission.”

Something inside me snaps awake. Wide awake.

It's been there this whole time...sleeping.

But now...?

_Execute mission._

I stand up immediately. All the pieces in my mind slide into place like one of those slide-puzzles.

Ben shouts at Poe, “Dammit!” before he whirls around to face me.

He’s holding a knife. No. It’s a 6 ½-inch double-edged boot knife designed for slashing and close-quarter, hand-to-hand combat against an experienced opponent.

Like me.

Everything moves in slow motion. I can see what he intends to do before he does it.

I can see…everything. Everything.

_Oh, Ben. You’ve been a very bad boy._

I crack my neck and set my feet into an attack stance.

“Ben Solo. You should have listened to Hux and knocked me out when you had the chance.”


	7. A Slice for You, A Slice for Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder...this fic is tagged for graphic violence, among other things. XOXO!

# Chapter 7 - A Slice for You, A Slice for Me

 

I shrug out of his tuxedo jacket and let it fall to the ground.

Ben glares at me, taking in my stance, my skimpy dress, my bare feet, and most importantly the deadly gleam in my eyes, which I don’t bother to hide from him.

Ben matches my stance and I thank heavens I took off my shoes before I dozed under that sleeping bag…

Kicking his ass in heels would be a bit more of a challenge.

Although I have no doubt in my mind I can do it, whether I’m wearing stilettos or not.

He’s watching me, calculating, evaluating. Wondering how much I know. He’s scanning me for some sign, some expression of bewilderment or confusion. Some indication I’m still…asleep.

_Oh, no, I’m wide awake, Ben._

Ben fucking Solo.

Bored billionaire. Narcissistic playboy with _way_ too much time on his hands. Major investor in clandestine, high-level, government-sanctioned military research.

And for the past six years, my handler. Also known as Kylo Ren.

The “wild two weeks” he mentioned earlier? Yeah. I’m more than a little peeved about that.

I remember bits and pieces of it, now. It’s fuzzy. But I know enough.

I know everything I need to know about him. Including how to take him down.

Because thanks to Poe Dameron, I’ve just unlocked… _everything_. I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue and roll my shoulders.

I can remember my life, my _real_ life, up until Ben and Hux started trying to deprogram me weeks ago.

After what he did to me? I’m going to kick the shit out of him…

“Kylo. Ren.” Just saying his name is enough to wipe the questions from his eyes. “I’m about to send you to a whole new world of hurt.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. 

“We’ll see,” he smirks. He sets his jaw, acknowledging my new awareness with a grim acceptance written on his face.

“Let us go, and I won’t make you bleed… _much_ …” I tell him, shaking my hair out of my face. “Try to fight me? And I’ll tear your fucking head off.”

“Aw, baby, why you gotta be like that?” Ben chuckles, leering at me until I want to slap the arrogance off his face. “I really think you should _stay_.”

He doesn’t look nearly as scared as he should be. But he will.

I keep my own face impassive – amazingly easy to do all of a sudden – and idly note once again how handsome he is, grinning at me until that striking dimple slashes his cheek, with his dark hair curling softly around his face and amber eyes twinkling with false humor.

He hasn’t shaved for a day or two, and his five o’clock shadow only adds to his appeal, adding a boyish scruffiness to his dramatic good looks. I can still practically feel his rough whiskers scraping against my skin. 

I observe the impressive breadth of his shoulders and the indentation of his collarbone under the open collar of his dress shirt. For some reason I focus my hate on that shirt, which, even untucked, still gives an appearance of urbane sophistication that only comes from being born into a life of extreme privilege…

He softens his smile and whispers appealingly, “ _Rey_ …”

It’s really too bad I’m going to have to fuck up his pretty face…

His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he strikes out with his knife, lightning fast.

It’s not an attempt to actually _get_ me. He’s testing his reach. He’s analyzing my reflexes. He’s checking to see if I’ll flinch. To see how much training I recall.

Which is all of it.

That sucks for him.

I dodge him easily, then return to my stance, planting my feet.

I roll my neck, loosening the muscles in my back and arms. I consciously start flexing my core muscles, drawing in deep, controlled breaths, prepping for a fight...

He perceives my movements and very correctly understands what it means: I’m getting ready to kick his very sexy ass into an alternate dimension.

Danger blazes from his whiskey-dark eyes.

“Rey. Back _down_. I don’t want to hurt you,” Ben warns with a pursing his full, red lips in an unsubtle attempt to seduce me.

“Don’t worry, babe. You won’t,” I breathe, refusing to be distracted.

There is no way this guy can touch me. I am going to _annihilate_ him.

He swipes at me again, fast and hard, his blade flashing close in the weak wintery light flowing through the filthy windows. Although he has long arms and the advantage of reach, I sidestep, prowling in a circle around Poe.

Ben regards me warily, mirroring my position. It’s smart of him to keep his eyes glued to the biggest threat in the room.

Me.

I smile as we come full circle.

He tosses his knife to his other hand and stands behind Dameron in one smooth motion, jerking his captive’s hair back roughly. “I don’t want to hurt him, either. But I will…”

He presses his blade against Poe’s throat and I shake my head.

_Bad move, Ben._

“Stand down,” he growls, voice gravelly with threat. He stares me down, squaring his shoulders, naked fury rolling off of him. He suddenly looks twice my size.

Every animal instinct I own recognizes the threat.

It’s pretty terrifying, I won’t lie...

Poe doesn’t budge but his eyes catch mine, and I realize he’s trying to tell me something. He glances down and to the left, then back to me.

Ah. Yeah. Poe’s almost got his hands untied…

I laugh softly into Ben’s malevolent gaze.  

“Tell you what, _Kylo_. Give me your knife right now, and I promise not to gut you with it…”

Poe opens his knees a fraction, exposing the edge of the seat of his chair.

Exploding into action, I kick it, barefoot, and Poe and the chair knock backwards into Ben. Ben jumps away, letting Poe slam into the floor with a muffled, “Ooomf.”

Ben moves to the center of the room as I prowl over to Poe.

“Move,” I snap, and Poe shifts as best he can, so I can kick down, hard, onto the front leg of the chair.

It’s wood. It breaks off and I snatch it up, spinning it in my hand, adjusting my grip to the weight of my improvised club.

Now I have a weapon. "Oh, Ben. I'm going to make it hurt, now."

My smile widens into a shit-eating grin as fear flickers into Ben’s eyes. Because he’s just realized he’s well and truly fucked.

I really, really do like that look on him.

“You’re right to be afraid of me,” I murmur quietly, stalking him across the room in a few slow paces that look harmless enough to the inexperienced eye.

But I am a huntress. And I am going in for the kill.

Every nerve in my body is alive, weaponized to attack.

“Rey,” Ben warns, “we need to talk.”

I swing the jagged edge of the chair leg at him, feinting for his face, before knocking the knife out of his hand with a chop of the edge of my hand against his wrist. The knife skitters across the floor.

Ben lunges for me and I slip away, easily.

I hear a car door slam just outside.

It must be Hux.

“Poe, hurry up!” I yell, ducking away from Ben’s grasp, dancing closer to the knife on the floor.

“I’m on it!” Poe calls back.

I hear Poe scramble and see him run out the front door.

Ben shakes his head. He’s a bit more rattled, now, but still spewing hostile condescension all over the place. “Come on, baby,” he sneers. “You know how this always ends…with you sucking my cock…”

I growl at him, taking another swing at his face with the pointy end of my improvised club.

I’m going to take out his motherfucking eye if he comes at me again, I swear to God.

“It’s just us now,” I whisper to Ben, letting some menace of my own trickle into my voice.

Those words... He’s said them to me, I realize. _Before_. I slam the door shut on that thought. I’ll think about it later.

_Nope. Too late. I’m thinking about it. Dammit._

“Ah, Rey…” Recognition flashes behind his eyes. He actually has the goddamn nerve to look _sorry_ and suddenly my desire to kill him redoubles itself…

I’m absolutely _not_ falling for that pathetic look in his eyes ever again.

“I’m going to fuck up your shit, Kylo. So bad,” I vow. I mean it.

“I don’t think so, bitch,” he snarls, all trace of sympathetic emotion erased in an instant. He lunges at me again.

Like I said. He’s fast.

But, I’m faster.

 _Almost_.

I’m _almost_ faster.

I _would have been_ faster, had I gotten more than four hours’ sleep in the past three days, that is. I would have been faster if...If I’d had anything to eat over the past few days that wasn’t laced with the First Order’s very effective version of Rohypnol.

If I wasn’t exhausted from what they did to me.

If I wasn’t sore, and weak, and scrawny as fuck from living like a goddamned impoverished college student for months…

This time, though. He’s got me beat by a millisecond.

He catches me by the hair. Hard enough to knock me off balance, yanking me so violently I feel more than a few hairs ripping out of my scalp.

“You’re nothing but broken-down doll parts and rejected government property, baby,” he grunts, swinging my head around while I scramble to remain on my feet.

It hurts like hell, but hair is not my priority right now. If I live, my hair will grow back.

He’s going to try to knock me out, he’s already pulling my head back to slam it into the wall.

And something inside me, it just…takes over…

Maybe it’s always been there.

But now it’s awake.

And I know _exactly_ what to do with it.

I drop my club and grip both hands over the fist in my hair.

Instead of grappling with his arm, I lock his hand in place on top of my head and aim my knee at his groin in a punishing strike. He turns aside, and I only catch him in the upper thigh, and he’s still gripping my hair.

 _Damn_. I really wanted to catch him in the balls. Now I’m getting angry.

I hang on tight keeping his hand trapped against my skull and go limp, letting gravity do its thing, pulling him with me; I can’t match his physical size or strength. We’ve already established he’s fucking huge.

My dead weight pulls his arm down from its intended trajectory and instead of ramming my head into the wall, he falls down and forward, toppling into me. I snag his thumb from the fist in my hair and bend it back. Hard. He grunts, letting go before I can dislocate it.

I land in a crouch, twisting away.

Balance.

This is a game of balance.

I can be quick.

I can be smart.

But he’s quick and smart, too.

Even as I am rolling up and out of my crouch, he sweeps a leg out into mine. I fall onto my back and he stands. He’s breathing hard and if he weren’t trying to murder me, I’d think it was damn sexy.

His eyes glance to the floor. His knife.

I’m closer.

I roll and dive for it. I feel its satisfying weight in my palm and instantly I roll onto my back.

If you’ve ever seen movies where someone jumps to her feet from a supine position on the floor, let me just say it looks a hell of a lot easier than it is to do in real life.

But I do it.

Oh, now he’s really screwed.

I’m good with a makeshift club. But a knife? Don’t even get me started...

He knows it, too, so he’s going to try to muscle it away from me before I can attack him.

When all else fails, he’s always relied on his brute strength over grace or finesse.

It’s the only advantage he has, really, his size…

He tackles me onto the mattress, and it’s like he has fucking tentacles because he’s _everywhere_.

He’s knocked the air out of my lungs. He’ll try to choke me out if I let him pin a forearm across my neck. So I can’t let that happen.

My grip on the knife is sure and he’s reaching for it, but my other hand is free, so I sucker punch him in that pretty mouth of his.

It doesn’t budge him, even though I’ve split his lip wide open. Blood starts dripping all over me. I feel a few hot drops of it land on my face and it makes me grin. I’d laugh, but I can’t _breathe_.

I push my tongue out and catch a drop, grunting. Mocking.

_I made you bleed, Ben. How absolutely delicious._

His eyes burn with this scary, hellish light and his grip tightens on the hand holding the knife with both of his. He’s sitting astride me, now, thick legs gripping my sides, preventing me from catching my breath.

It’s okay. I don’t need to breathe.

I need to butcher this bastard.

I draw my hand back to punch him again and he takes one of his massive paws off my knife hand to block the incoming blow.

Just what I was hoping for.

And now for the tricky part.

He’s got both my wrists gripped in each of his hands, pinned to either side of my head. He’s straddling me, and I’m stuck.

He’s _furious_. He is not going to play nice.

So, neither will I. Enough is enough.

Faster than I can describe it, I yank my right arm over my head, pulling his along with. At the same time, I wrap my right leg around his ankle, destabilizing his center of gravity.

I use all the power in my left thigh to lever into him, knocking him aside so I can roll on top of him.

But I know if I end up straddling him, I will be in the same position he was in just a minute ago, and he’ll get out of it just as I did.

So, I keep rolling, right off the mattress, holding onto his arm as the momentum drags him with me. I use the power of my legs to pull him into a kneel or tear his arm from its socket, I don’t really care which.

 _Momentum is a wonderful thing_ , I think, as I hurl him into the wall, and in one smooth motion throw my knife at him as hard as I can.

I’m aiming for his neck. I should have aimed for his goddamn liver.

He dodges, moving like quicksilver, and the knife ends up sticking out of his shoulder. Still, I threw it hard enough to lodge it all the way to the hilt. He cries out in a sharp exhalation of surprise. What a _gorgeous_ sound.

The part of me still waking up is damned impressed with myself.

He won’t be able to use that arm for a while. I hope it hurts like a motherfucker.

We both know if he tries to pull out that knife he could slice an artery or a tendon or do some serious damage.

This isn’t the movies. I need to wrap this up. The longer we fight, the more likely I am to be injured. My stamina isn't what it should be.

He’s still coming at me, though, furious and intent on taking me out, so I snatch up my broken chair leg and swing it at him.

It’s enough to back him toward the wall, but it won’t even come close to taking him down.

I need a _weapon_.

The broken chair is just sitting there, so I kick the side rung up, flipping it into my hands.

Before Ben can reach me, I heft it sideways into his leg, putting the full power of my hips into the swing.

There’s a real art to hitting someone effectively. And right now? I’m fucking Picasso.

I hear a _pop_ and he drops. I’ve dislocated his knee by the sound of it.

“Ouch, does that _hurt_?” I gasp, taunting him.

“Bitch!” he hisses. His face turns white from the pain of it.

Good. Beautiful.

“I tried to warn you, babe.” My chest heaves with exertion as I heft the chair again. “You. Owe me. Fifty million dollars.”

His eyes glitter at the mention of money. “The check is in the mail. Whore.”

 _No it isn’t._ I glower at him for being a dirty liar on top of everything else.

We are both breathing heavily.

He’s kneeling and plants a hand on his good knee, bent to support him from toppling over.

He looks like he’s going to try to stand up. He scoots towards me a few inches.

 _Fuck._ I’d forgotten how tough he is. I briefly consider yanking that knife from his shoulder and killing him with it.

But, I’m losing momentum. I’m winded. He’s down for now, and I’m not going to get within arms reach of him.

Not the way he’s looking at me right now. Nope.

I toss the chair to the side and back away from him.

“Rey. You can run, but you can’t hide,” he threatens venomously, and he starts _crawling_ after me. Like the goddamn _Terminator_ or something.

Okay. Yep. I’m scared again. No time. I need to run. I need to get out.

I head for the door before it’s too late. His parting words send a shiver into my gut.

_“I’m coming for you, sweetheart. I promise.”_

I believe him, even as I throw myself out the door, running down the rickety steps of the front porch, barefoot.

I get to the driveway just in time to see Poe drop Hux to the ground with a well-placed haymaker followed by a vicious kick into the fallen man’s side.

“Poe! We need to leave. Now!” 

By the time we scramble into the car, Ben has dragged himself to the front of the cabin, pulling himself up to lean against the doorframe with impossible strength.

Holy fucking hell. He should be writhing in pain on the floor of that cabin…

Poe clambers into the driver’s seat of the town car, and we peel out of the driveway at a breakneck speed, spewing gravel from the spinning tires.

Six shots ring out in rapid succession, and Poe and I duck as the rear window shatters. Hux is shooting at us, still lying on the ground.

“You couldn’t get his gun?” I chastise Poe, frustrated and breathless. I look back at them.

Ben scowls furiously from the front porch. Hux sits up and I can see his nostrils flaring from here.

“You couldn’t _kill_ him?” Poe snaps back at me. “Now he’s pissed and definitely coming for us…”

_Okay. Point made, Dameron._

Poe glances at me. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” No. I’m so screwed.

_You can run, but you can’t hide. I’m coming for you, sweetheart. I promise._

Bile is rising against the back of my throat. I’m sure I’m in shock and probably starting to detox from whatever drugs they’d been feeding me.

I’m still out of breath, but Ben’s words start flooding into my mind. “He told you Snoke wants me fixed or put down.”

Poe nods, scowling at the road.

“Thanks for…waking me up,” I finally tell him.

“Well. I didn’t really feel like letting your ex-boyfriend slit my throat, so, it was purely selfish,” Poe jokes and he’s so charming I can’t even get annoyed with him for referring to Ben as my ex.

Plus, he’s not half wrong.

Ben. He’s also called Kylo Ren. They are the same person. 

And Kylo and I…we have a very complicated history.

 


	8. Crumb Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to reiterate that this story is dark and the stuff in this chapter is not nice. There is graphic violence and mention of more, including non-con.
> 
> Please review the tags, which have been updated. Also, please review my notes at the beginning of this fic and consider yourselves warned. 
> 
> *Content/Trigger Warning: Discussion of past gang bang and threat of another one in this chapter* (I did not tag for gang bang as there will not be a scene in this fic.)
> 
> Okay...Deep breath...and...if you're still with me...enjoy your Cake...
> 
> XOXO!

# Chapter Eight – Crumb Cake

 

Frigid air flows into the car from the blown-out back window, and I’m wearing next to nothing. That, combined with the shock of everything, is making me shiver uncontrollably.

I crank up the heat and huddle near the hot air vents.

“We need to ditch this car,” I tell Poe. He nods. “We’ve probably already tripped a perimeter alarm.”

No way Ben isn’t going to have major surveillance in the area and backup nearby…

I continue, “I’m sure they have phones, they’ve called for reinforcements already.”

“Yep.”

“Where the hell are we?”

“No idea,” Poe returns amicably, steering us down a winding gravel road.

Well, okay. I’m about to ask him what’s the plan, but he seems to know what’s up.

“How’d you get out here, mixed up in all this?” I ask instead.

“Caught word you were in New York. Partying with Ben Solo. On quite a bender, according to the gossip rags,” Poe explains. “Um. Some…pretty wild stuff.”

Poe looks at me sheepishly, and it occurs to me I’m not wearing any underwear. _Wild stuff. Yeah._ I can only imagine what we got up to…

“They were using you as bait, trying to draw someone to come and rescue you…”

_Why?_

“I think they were trying to, um, be as _outrageous_ as possible. Noticeable. Scandalous. Sending a message…”

“Yeah? Ya think?” I grumble.

Poe swallows uncomfortably, and I wonder what all he saw me doing…It must have been pretty bad if it was enough for him to break cover and come and get me.

Why would Ben want to draw him out though? He would have guessed I’d turned. And if he knew that, he could have just sent in a team to eliminate my new allies…

The only logical reason would be that Ben and Hux weren’t able to “fix” me. Whatever that means...

And when they failed, they would parade me around New York’s club scene, make a big splash, get me noticed. Tempt Dameron into coming for me…

Well. They could have just killed me.

And. Ben could have killed Poe. But he chose not to. He said we need to talk.

_Why?_

That question plagues me as we bump along the country road. Why would Ben _not_  kill us both, when I know he’s capable of so much worse?

 

**Six Years Ago – Somewhere in a First Order Training Compound**

“They tell you why you’re here?”

I shake my head. I assume this is another round of interrogation training, although I’ve had more than enough.

I hear a sigh. It sounds frustrated.

I’m strapped to a table, angled at about sixty-five degrees, and I’ve been here for hours. The blood is pooling in my legs and I’m bored and irritable and uncomfortable. A dangerous combination.

Especially during interrogation.

The cell is empty except for a single camera with a blinking red light, high in the corner to my right.

I assume this is all being recorded, like much of my training over the past year or so.

I can’t see whoever is speaking to me, but the voice is low, masculine.

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer me, Scavenger. If I have to tell you this again, I’m going to break your arm and leave you here for a day. Then I will return, and we will proceed. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I’ve had my arm broken before, on purpose, and it fucking sucks.

I sense a looming presence behind me, just out of my line of sight.

“Did they tell you why you’re here?” the voice asks again. Calm. Elegantly modulated. Commanding. To let me know exactly who has the upper hand here.

Fine. Okay, man. Do what you need to do...

“No.” I keep my own voice level, no inflection whatsoever.

“I don’t like your tone, bitch.”

My tone is fine, but this person wants to toy with me. Whatever.

“Do you have a problem with authority?” His voice is crackling with it. Authority.

“No, sir,” I reply smoothly.

A small hum. He likes respect.

“Sarcastic.” I wasn’t being sarcastic. But I’m not falling for whatever he’s baiting me with.

He waits a few beats before stepping into view.

My first impression is he’s a _big_ man. He’s very tall and just… _big_. Broad shoulders, thickly muscled through the chest, huge hands…

 _Cruel hands_ , I think impulsively. An unexpected shiver runs down my spine. I chalk it up to the chill in the room.

“You’re here to meet your new handler. Tell me, Scavenger, does the prospect interest you?”

_How the fuck am I supposed to answer that?_

“Yes, sir.”

His fist comes flying out of nowhere and knocks me precisely in the jaw, cutting the inside of my cheek against my teeth. My mouth fills instantly with pain and the coppery tang of blood.

“It’s not your job to be interested in anything but what I tell you to be interested in.”

I’m glaring at him now. I can’t help it. Well. I _can_ help it. But, I’ve decided I don’t like this asshole.

He really should warn a girl before he punches her.

I smile at him, knowing he can see my bloody teeth. “Sorry, sir.”

I spit a glob of saliva and blood from my mouth and it lands on the floor of the cell with a disgusting splat.

I’m still smiling, and he grins back at me with such congeniality I wonder if it’s genuine. His dark head tilts as he casually surveys the spit on the floor before turning a predatory stare back to me.

“A spitter, huh?” He asks conversationally. No bite, no anger, just a question following an observation.

He leans in, close enough so I can smell a hint of cologne or aftershave or something. “Next time we’ll see if we can’t get you to _swallow_.”

The sexual undertone is clear. It does not bother me.

All in all, despite being punched in the face, this is the politest interrogation I’ve ever been on the receiving end of…which is _fine_ by me.

Let’s just say training in counter-intelligence, combat, and infiltration requires one to go through serious physical punishment, some of which involves sex. Some of it consensual. Most of it not. But, it’s part of the deal when you sign up to be an ultra-secret government superspy, or whatever the fuck I am.

It’s so top-secret, I don’t even have a formal designation. Only about twelve people on the planet know I exist. And none of them are particularly forthcoming about the Starkiller program I’m training for…

His eyes appear black in the dim light and they are positively dancing with undiluted malice.

“How much counter-intelligence training have you undergone?” he snaps.

Enough to know better than to answer that question. The very first rule of interrogation is to not give up any information.

 _Dammit_. I think he’s going to break my arm after all.

I brace myself for another punch. It doesn’t come.

“Scavenger, you have a serious attitude problem.”

I don’t, but whatever. This dude can sit on my middle finger and spin.

He’s pacing, taking measured, calculated steps. He’s not looking at me, but rather seems to sink deep into his own thoughts.

He finally asks again, “Do you know why I’m here, Rey?”

Ah. Using my name. Getting personal. I’m not falling for it.

He continues, obviously not expecting me to reply. I’m glad he doesn’t hit me again. I’m beginning to think the first punch was a bluff. A show of power meant to intimidate. He’s all bark and no bite. I relax infinitesimally.

“I’m here because you are too damn smart for your own good. I’m here because Snoke thinks I am the only person who is going to be able to _really_ break you.”

He’s circling around me like a cat, and it’s really starting to creep me the fuck out…

“The First Order needs operatives who are willing to submit everything they have to its purpose. It is not interested in strong-headed, prideful, pains in the ass like you…” I feel a hand stroke the back of my head. Like he's _petting_ me. 

“Your mind is the key to this whole project, the whole point of what you’ve been training for this past year.” Another stroke and it’s all I can do not to flinch away. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me, but with this guy…it bothers me a lot.

“We need an empty vessel, not a _partially_ empty one. And you know damn well what’s required to get you there. You need to fucking _break_. All the way. We can’t have you going halfway. We can’t have _resistance_. You signed up for this. You _know_ this.” He’s lecturing me and looks like a goddamn college professor.

He bitch-slaps me and this is far worse than a punch. More humiliating.

But I’ve done some humiliating shit to get to this point. A little more won’t kill me. Probably.

“Answer my question,” he instructs politely.

I pretend to think for a second as if I need to recall what he’d asked me.

“You are here to break me, sir,” I eventually reply, around a mouthful of stinging ache and a lump of fear that won’t go away.

“You’re so right,” he agrees.

His fist comes flying out of nowhere, and I get a fresh mouthful of blood. He watches me, raptor-like.

We’re both wondering the same thing. _Will I spit or swallow?_

God, I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.

Guess how stupid?

Yep. _That_ fucking stupid.

The glob of blood and saliva lands on his shoulder this time.

And he smiles. And it’s fucking _evil_.

Terror floods into my gut and spills across my chest as I comprehend what I’ve just done. I am looking into the eyes of someone beyond ruthless. This person…is a real, live monster. Bad. Dangerous.

It’s like he can flip this switch. I’d be fascinated if I weren’t starting to feel a bit out of my element.

That smile. It’s everything a smile should be. Warm, humorous, disarmingly handsome. Red, full lips that look like they belong on an angel…slightly crooked teeth – just enough to lend a bit of humanity to this otherwise god-like man…a gentle squint around the eyes that someday will leave lovely little lines…and a dimple to dent the side of his handsome face with such allure…

I swallow reflexively, trying to contain the rising touch of panic blooming under my skin. I am starting to sense if anyone _can_ break me…it  might just be him.

And while I understand it is _essential_ to my training that I break…I _can’t_. I don’t _want_ to.

I glance at the camera in the room, the little red light blinks back at me innocuously. It’s a comfort.

He sees, and his eyes light up like a bonfire.

He leans into me, pressing himself against me on that table, getting right up close, and I can’t fucking move. And I want to get the hell _away_ from him and his warm body and enticing scent and dark eyes piercing into my thoughts like an arrow through wet paper.

“You know what you’ve been doing. Nobody else could figure it out but me…and that is why I’m here,” he agrees, the words rumbling from his chest.

Why is this getting to me? I’ve been through way worse than this.

I’ve been telling myself all kinds of things to get through some of the horrible shit I’ve had to do and that’s been done to me. Mostly, I’ve told myself it’s going to be okay. That I’m getting through whatever it is they’ve cooked up. Because I’m _good_ at this and it shows.

They’ve been watching. They _know_ how good I am.

I’m too good for them to waste all this time and effort just to put me down at the last minute…

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.

I’m clinging to _hope_.

And this guy has figured it out.

And only now can I see how utterly stupid I’ve been.

“When you think you have _hope_ … _ooooh, baby_ …you’ll _never_ break. As long as hope exists, you’re not malleable, you can’t be what we need.”

He grinds his hips against mine and I can feel he’s half hard. Bile rises up in me. Not because I don’t like what he’s doing. But because I like it a little too much.

I try to tell myself the only reason I’m attracted to him is because he’s so sexy and warm and he smells good and he called me “baby” and it’s really been a while since I’ve been with anyone _voluntarily_ …and…

He stands up and starts pacing, watching me as he moves languidly across the cell. Three steps to the left, pivot. Five steps to the right, pivot. Two steps left. Pause.

My legs throb and tingle from being in this position for so long. They will be fully numb soon, and then they won’t work for a good few minutes after I’m released from the table. Anxiety crawls under my skin like ants. I try to ignore it, although I know whatever is coming next is going to really _suck_ if I can’t use my legs…

“Abandon hope, all ye who enter here…” he muses, still observing me predatorily. “Where’s that from?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I lie. I damn well do know. It’s written over the gates of this training compound, a vile reminder of Dante’s Hell…

He leans in close and I stare at the bloody spit on his otherwise crisp white shirt. That linen looks expensive. I hope it was. I hope I ruined it.

“How’ve you been doing it?” he asks gently. “Compartmentalizing everything?”

We’re back to Interrogation 101, and I’m not telling this fucker a thing.

_I might actually die from being too stubborn. Huh._

“You take yourself away? Somewhere safe? Where nobody can touch you, is that it?” he croons in my ear as sweetly as if he’s speaking to a child. He caresses my cheek with the back of his curved index finger. I can feel his breath against my neck, hot and soft as a feather.

I shiver.

“Mmmmm…I can _almost_ see it…your little hideaway…I can _aaalmost_ smell it…” He’s drawing out his words, songlike, and sniffing at me like a dog as the heat from his body seeps slowly into me. We lock gazes again and I cannot drag my eyes from his.

“Where is it, Rey? Your sanctuary? Hmm? A cave? You imagine an ocean? An island?”

I breathe, just the slightest inhale and he catches it.

_Damn._

“ _Ahhh_ …” Satisfaction rumbles from that massive chest of his and I break eye contact against the impermeable truth in his gaze. “You imagine an island…I see it. Your safe little mental retreat?”  

He kisses my cheek, soft, pillowy lips caressing me so gently it makes me want to scream. Every hair on my body stands on end. “Not for long, sweetheart…”

I _don’t_ want his treacherously soft touches, and I definitely don’t _need_ them. I almost, almost tell him to fuck off, but no, even I’m not quite that stupid.

Until he kisses my mouth. That is just…too much.

So, I bite him.

_Good. Now we’re both bleeding._

He sucks his bloody bottom lip and he looks so… _alive_ …Like I just did the one thing he was hoping I would do so he can keep going.

His warm, large hands undo the straps holding my arms and legs so swiftly, I fall to the ground. My legs cannot hold me, no matter how much training I’ve had.

“I’m here for one thing and one thing alone. I’m Snoke’s very own personal attack dog, and I’m _exceptionally_ skilled at getting my way,” he snarls at me, bending over me to force me into a kneel. “The so-called training you’ve had already? That is fucking _child’s play_ compared to what’s coming. So, don’t think you are going to outsmart me or outflank me or fight this. You’re either going to _submit_ or you’re going to be _put down_...”

He’s deadly serious. And I know he’s right.

He leans over me and snags my wrist, yanking it up behind my back, _hard_. Shit. He’s not going to –

A rough tug from him and my shoulder explodes into unimaginable agony. I’d try to fight him, but he drops me to the ground like a rag doll. My legs aren’t working and now my fucking shoulder is dislocated.

And between that or a broken arm, I’ll take a broken arm any damn time.

“Ouch! Does that _hurt_?” he asks. He sounds so… _sympathetic_. I really fucking hate him.

I’m writhing on the floor and he’s towering over me with this unfathomable look on his face. I try to go _there_ , to my mental haven, my island, but he isn’t letting me…

He purrs, “I’m there, too, now, aren’t I? An unwelcome guest? Invading your little vacation spot?” He kicks me hard and agony spears into my ribs. That on top of the shoulder…it’s almost too much.

I promise myself I’m going to kill this fucker someday.

He chuckles.

“Rey I’m going to tell you something important. And I _really_ need you to listen up.” He squats down a foot away, the bulge of his crotch right in my line of vision. _Deliberate_ , I think. He’s trying to intimidate the hell out me...

I think it might be working. I know tears of pain are streaming down my face, I’ve broken into a flop sweat and I’m fighting to stay awake. There is no fucking way this guy is getting the best of me.

“You’re _nothing_. You’re _nobody_. And, if you don’t get your shit together and do what’s expected and break for me…Snoke will just find a new rock star for this little pet program of his. You’re entirely dispensable. You’re nothing special. The First Order has the resources to do this over and over again until they find the right _tool_. So, this is really all on you.”

I don’t know how to answer this, so I try to move my legs instead. They ache with excruciating tingles from lack of circulation.

He watches me twitching on the floor. I’m not ready to give in just yet.

Until.

“You’re about due for another gang-bang I think,” he murmurs.

 _No._ _No!_ I almost scream out loud. _Please, fuck no…_

He nods, seeing my reaction.

“Only this time…no island getaway for you. You’re really going to have to pay attention this time… because when it’s over, I’m coming back in here.”

He stands and rolls up his sleeves, pushing his hands into his pockets, looking for all the world like a model for luxury cars or watches or something.

“When I return, I’m going to ask you to recall in explicit detail what they did…and if you don’t answer my questions immediately and truthfully, or if you get one thing wrong, I’m telling Snoke your little secret. He’ll toss you directly into the junk pile. And then? I’m going to take you back to my place and have some _real_ fun with you…make you _beg_ me for death. Make no mistake…I can do it.”

I believe him. Every word.

He nudges my broken rib with the toe of a very-expensive-looking shoe, forcing a tortured gasp from my throat.

My heart is pounding with dread and terror and the kind of self-loathing that only comes from realizing this whole situation was entirely preventable, had I not been so goddamned hard-headed.

He squats down again, and my vision starts to blur, casting a halo of light around this demented piece of shit, making him appear angelic instead of evil, even though I know he is…beyond evil. He's a monster.

“Or,” he breathes softly. Is that a note of hope?  

My ears prick up. If there is a way out of the horrible scenario he’s just described, I’ll take it…

“Or, you can agree to come with me, right now, and we can solve your little problem together. Just us. You can do this easy way, or the hard way, but either way you’re getting fucked until I say you’re done.”

I force the lump of hate in my chest to settle down.

“I don’t have all day.” He looks bored. He looks aloof. I want him to _die_ , but there’s not a goddamn thing I can do…

Option A? Or Option B? Either one of them is going to be hell…but…if I go with _him_ …I know he’ll strip me down to my soul and break me into a million pieces.

And I just… _can’t_.

“Fuck you,” I whisper gutturally. One last attempt at bravado.

He sighs, and I’d swear he looks truly sorry.

“Hmmm. Too bad, but your choice. I can respect that.” He stands and starts rolling his sleeves back down, casual as fuck.

“Be sure to pay attention, Rey. Wouldn’t want you to forget a thing… I hear some of those boys are basically just animals. Oh, and I need you to swallow down whatever they put in your mouth. I’ll be watching to make sure you do…” He makes a pointed glance at the camera in the cell. “We'll make you a swallower, yet. You understand, baby?”

He pulls his leg back for another kick and belatedly I realize he’s waiting for an answer. I can't take another kick and we both know it. My pride slips a notch.

“Yes, sir,” I groan. My shoulder is driving me to the edge of agony. I _almost_ beg him to reset it for me before he leaves.

Fuck. This is going to fucking suck. A tear streams down my face and he watches it, smiling remorsefully.

He turns as he’s leaving the cell and tells me one last thing. “I’m not going to stop them until you ask for me, _personally_. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Or days. Depends on my schedule. They’re not done until I hear you begging for me.”

I cannot get words out at this point, I am so close to blacking out… All I can do is gasp, “Who?”

I’m glad he understands. I can barely form words I’m in so much pain at the moment.

“Call me Kylo. When I get back, I’ll start watching the show, so…make it nice and loud so I can hear. Oh, and try not to die.”

_Fuck. No. I can’t do this. I can’t do this._

I changed my mind.

_Wait._

“Wait!” I rasp. The rest of my pride scampers out the door.

He pauses at the door and lifts a brow.

“Please, wait,” I grunt. “With you. I’ll go.”

He makes me lay there in agony for a full minute before he nods. My head is reeling, and my shoulder and ribs are actually vibrating with pain, but my legs are kind of starting to work now.

Finally, he says quietly, “I’m the only one who can make it stop, Rey. Remember that. And, if you live through this… if you break for me…we’ll be working together much more closely. I really think we’ll have fun together. Don’t you?”

He waits expectantly until I grunt a _yessir_ , which is all I can get out before I _almost_ succumb to the release of blacking out.

But I can’t. Because he’s just crooked his finger at me and he clearly expects me to get up and follow him.

I’m wondering if changing my mind at the last minute wasn’t the hard way, after all.

 

**_Present Day_ **

Poe interrupts my thoughts by pulling to the side of the road for a minute.

“Listen. If we hold out, I think they might be coming for me. For us,” he amends.

If anyone is coming for us, then that means… “You let yourself be captured?” I ask.

He nods.

“They’re tracking you?”

Another nod.

I see flashing lights up ahead.

A car. Flashing their headlights at us.

I look at Poe.

“Our guys or theirs?”

Poe peers down the road, as nonchalantly as if we are tourists checking out the countryside.

“Ours,” he finally mutters. “Oh. Wait. Nope. That’s _theirs_ …hang on.”

He flashes his lights in return and glances at me. “We got this, right?”

“Fuck, yeah,” I grit out.

And for the first time all day, I heave a sigh of relief.

I was at a disadvantage then. But now. I have a mission.

I know _exactly_ what to do.

I’m going to burn their little science project to the fucking ground.


	9. If You Are Going to Make a Cake, You Have to Break a Few Eggs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, just let me say thank you and I love you and your comments FEED me and only make me want to write more of this filth...
> 
> We are definitely getting into deep waters, so I encourage you to review the tags if you need to...
> 
> That said, here's another serving of Cake...
> 
> XOXO!

# Chapter Nine – If You Are Going to Make a Cake, You Have to Break a Few Eggs

**Six Years Ago – Somewhere in a First Order Training Compound**

I follow him out of my cell, stumbling against the wall for balance, but nonetheless staying upright in my determination not to be left behind.

It has nothing to do with the beguiling way he beckoned me with the crook of a finger. Nothing at all.

I’m just happy to be getting out of the gang-bang he’d threatened. I’ve gone through two, so far, since I was recruited for Starkiller a year ago.

He was right when he said the only way I’d gotten through it was escaping, mentally. I’d go to my island and nobody could touch me there.

But now…he knows. He knows and it’s not a retreat anymore.

I wonder how I’m going to escape from him doing… whatever he’s going to do…

It’s not like I don’t _want_ to be here. Most of me even _likes_ it. I’m part of something…bigger, you know? I… _belong_ somewhere. They _wanted_ me.

And when it’s over? If I’m still alive, I’ll have more money than I can ever spend in twenty lifetimes.

Kylo strolls down the concrete hallway as casually as if he is attending an art show, but with an obvious destination in mind.

This facility is partially underground, and he is headed to the end of a poorly-lit corridor. I can see stairs. My legs are wobbly, and I am not sure if I will be able to manage stairs at this point.

_Damn._

We walk past several cells and I pointedly ignore the faces staring back at me through the reinforced glass windows on the doors. The First Order keeps all kinds of animals locked away down here, as I well know. I can feel greedy eyes swarming over me and I refrain from visibly shivering. I know exactly who’s in there. I’m not interested in seeing any of those creatures again, unless it’s to put a bullet between their eyes.

I try to focus on Kylo through my pain and fear. I do not want to remind him of the fact that only by our tenuous agreement - I go with him - have I narrowly escaped being locked in a cell with some of those beasts until he said otherwise…

Still, I can’t help but worry where he’s leading me. I can’t help but wonder if he isn’t the biggest beast down here…

_It’s not your job to be interested in anything but what I tell you to be interested in._

I follow Kylo to a set of stairs that lead ominously down, and I cannot control my gasps for breath. My shoulder – although it has only been about ten minutes since he dislocated it – is going to send me over the edge of consciousness soon.

We get to the stairs and he turns, eyes sparking with black malice.

“How’s the shoulder?” he asks.

“Hurts. Sir.” I’ll be honest about it and respectful, too. There’s no point in false bravado or maintaining my pride at this point. I will try to maintain my dignity to the last, but I have a feeling that isn’t going to last very long, either.

Before I can stop him, he approaches me, sweeping my hair to the side in a loverlike gesture that makes my skin crawl.

His voice is velvet-soft when he asks, “You see, we really have a serious problem when our assets don’t…fall into line. You understand?” He sounds apologetic.

I nod. “Yessir.”

“What do you understand?” he prompts.

I expand my answer, parrotlike. “It’s a problem for the First Order when assets don’t fall into line, sir.”

_Please. Please fix my shoulder and I’ll say whatever you want..._

His hands grip me, surprisingly gentle, warm and strong, and in a sharp pull and tug, he yanks my arm, popping the shoulder back into the socket.

He’s so efficient, he’s obviously done this before.

I groan with relief, even though my legs tingle with pain and my ribs spike with agony every time I draw a breath.

His hands stay on me, after. I want to shrug them away, but I feel like that would be a really dumb thing to do after he just reset my shoulder…

No. Wait. He was the one who fucked it up in the first place.

I hate him.

We stand there glowering at each other in the coldly-lit concrete hallway next to the stairs that descend into hell for all I know and I’m trying to figure out how this is going to work.

What is he going to do to me?

He licks his bottom lip, tongue poking out to feel where I bit him. As much as I hate his guts, I find myself…mesmerized by the gesture.

Why are we just standing here? Are we just going to look at each other all fucking day?

“Abandon all hope, Scavenger.”

And then he grips my arm like a vice, kicking my feet out from under me, and drags me down the stairs to a landing that turns to reveal more stairs. They descend into gloom. I don’t want to –.

He pushes me roughly and I go flying down before I can stop him.

If my ribs were hurting before, they are now exploding with pain. My vision is starting to white-out, a sure sign I’m either passing out or waking up from temporary unconsciousness.

I lie at the bottom of the stairs, dry-heaving as incredible agony wracks my body. My recently relocated shoulder throbs angrily.

If trying to get me to lose hope is his goal…throwing me down the stairs with broken ribs is a damned good start.

I don’t have time to do a full assessment of my physical condition before I hear his footsteps thundering down after me. A hand claws into my hair and I instinctively grab onto it with both of mine.

He’s dragging me down a hallway. By my hair. Like a goddamn caveman.

I try to kick out, to fight back, but he’s strong and moves easily, dodging my attempts to strike; he’s obviously gone through the same combat training I have. No. He's by far the superior fighter. I know when I’m outclassed.

I am starting to get the feeling I am in seriously deep shit, here.

He keeps going and I try to skid my feet under me.

The only thing keeping him from ripping the hair from my scalp is me gripping his fist with all my strength.

My ribs are on fire. My left eye hurts and is starting to swell shut. That fall down the stairs didn’t do me any good at all.

_Do not black out, Rey._

Somehow, I know if I do, things will go from bad to worse.

He drags me down a carpeted corridor, kicks open a door, and practically hurls me inside. I land in the middle of the room, huddled and choking for breath.

I crouch on all fours and dry-heave onto the floor. Nothing but bile comes up, because I haven’t eaten for a while. It’s gross.

So much for my dignity.

I am in what appears to be a fancy office. Persian rug, carved antique furniture, leather chairs, a fireplace. Several portraits hang on the wall, although there are no windows. The room is large. One side holds row upon row of books, and in a corner, I can see a strange chair. A sense of foreboding washes over me at the sight of that chair.

It feels dreadfully final. Like if I'm ever in it, I'm not going to wake up and be me anymore. Although I cannot remember having ever seen anything quite like it before, it looks harmless enough, a sleek anti-gravity-type chair that would be comfortable, except for the series of wires and strange apparati on the headrest. It looks as if a person’s head is meant to go in there and…

_Fuck._

_What is this place?_

“Scavenger.” He murmurs quietly, reading my mind's question with ease. “Welcome to Hell.”

I groan, incapable of speaking words at the moment. I can feel my left eye swelling shut and I’m pretty sure if my ribs were cracked before, they are fully broken now. I hope I don’t end up with a punctured lung…

I glance around the room again and notice a doorway cracked partially open, beyond which lies a bed.

Living quarters? Does he live here?

I don’t want to die. I try to glare at him from my good eye, but he’s moving to his desk, quickly and gracefully. He picks up a knife, and my heart drops into my stomach.

I am expecting to be raped, beat up some more, maybe drugged. Maybe some waterboarding. Torture.

But the sight of that knife sends true terror spilling into my veins.

So far, the First Order has been very careful to make sure none of my training leaves scars – too many scars on an agent draws unwelcome questions and attention – and I’ve been warned  if I let myself get cut or disfigured, I’m useless to the program and I’ll be “let go.” That’s a euphemism for "executed," by the way.

But he’s holding that knife like he plans on _using_ it, and I am in no condition to defend myself. I grudgingly admit I wouldn’t be able to fight him off, even if I _wasn’t_ injured.

“It’s just us now,” he hisses with such menace I start trembling.

Shit. I should have opted for the gang-bang…

I’ve had some combat training, but knives are not my strong suit. I’m good, but, hey. Nobody’s perfect.

And he looks _way_ too comfortable flipping that lethal, shiny blade between his dexterous fingers…

“Here’s how this is going to go,” he tells me.

I swallow and try to stand up, but I…can’t. I’m getting frustrated. I can feel tears welling behind my eyes. This is so _unfair_ …

“You need a teacher.”

He’s pacing, no _stalking_ , back and forth behind his desk and he looks determined and agitated and…very grave. I am once again given the impression he moves like a large, predatory jungle cat. 

“There are only two lessons I am going to teach you.”

He flips the knife in his hand, catching it by the hilt without even really looking. It’s…frightening.

I am scared and hurt, and I wish I was anywhere but here. I draw a deep breath, not knowing how many more of those fate will allow me…

“Lesson One. There is no hope. None. No matter what happens at the end of this, you are going to die.”

_Wait. What?_

He prowls around the desk, and I stand my ground. Figuratively. I stand my ground from my crouch on the floor.

But, if this is how it really ends, I’m not going down without a fight. I glower up at him from one good eye. I wish looks could kill. I really do.

“Fuck you. Sir.” I growl.

He smiles, a downturn of plump red lips combined with a squint of the eyes that send flutters tugging into my belly…because he’s so goddamn beautiful but also because I _hate_ him.

“Don’t worry. I will…” He fucking _winks_ at me and I want to clobber him.

“Lesson Two. You are nothing but what I tell you to be. You’re mine. You’ll be my weapon, my spy, my slut, my cock warmer, my little cum dumpster…whatever the fuck I say, for as long as I say. I officially own you, as of right now. Whatever you think you signed up for is null and void. I’m the only one who makes this stop. And when I’m done with you… you’re _still_ going to die.”

I know that’s a lie. I signed contracts with lawyers and everything. They are supposed to pay me a shit-ton of money after I’m done with this.

Well. If I live.

His smile curves into that gut-clenching evil smirk again. He’s watching realization sink into me, and my hope wavers.

He squats down in front of me, so we are at eye-level. “What? You think because you signed a piece of paper you’re getting out of this alive? You dumb bitch. That was really fucking stupid, Rey.”

I hate the way he says my name.

“A delayed reality check. That’s all hope gets you. Because as of right now, you have zero options. I need you to get that through your pretty little head, baby.”

He shakes his head in mocking disgust and I suddenly feel incredibly naïve and vulnerable.

“I’m telling you right now, Scavenger. And you need to really listen…” He ducks his chin and does that thing where he locks eyes with mine and I can’t pull away… “You have not a soul in this world who gives a shit about you. You’re nothing. Nobody. The best you can get out of this, the best-case scenario, is that you live for a couple of years before you’ve served my purpose and are put out to pasture…if you aren’t killed in action.”

He leans in close. His face is just inches from mine. Why I don’t head-butt him, I don’t know. I’ve never been one to freeze from fear before but this…it’s a lot to process.

Because I know he’s absolutely telling me the truth.

He sees it, as I digest the information he’s been patiently feeding me, processing my new reality. My fate.

He reinforces it with a huff of breath, sorrowful, and I cling to that look. He really does look sorry for just a fraction of a second.

My heart thuds in dreadful anticipation, temporarily obscuring even my physical pain…

“You ready?” he purrs, cocking his head as he holds up his knife. My stomach drops.

I shake my head and try to scramble backwards. He grabs my sore shoulder and pushes me onto my butt. Hard.

“Your ass belongs to me, Scavenger. And I’m going to wear. It. Out. And then I’m going to break it.”

It takes three days for him to do it, and I cannot recall most of it, even now, no matter how hard I try.

I vaguely remember him flipping me onto my back with ridiculous ease.

It is embarrassing how easily he did it.

I remember him holding that knife to my throat and yanking my pants down. Suddenly my entire world shrank to the exact position of the point of that blade. I remember thinking I could try to fight him, that it really would be just that easy to let him kill me.

I remember he pulled a syringe from his back pocket and uncapped it with his teeth before stabbing it into my upper thigh, one-handed, pushing the plunger down with his thumb.

I remember it stung.

After that, things get blurry.

I remember the end, though.

When _it_ happened.

He’d just told me for the third time in as many hours he was going to let me go, free and clear, if I would just come for him. I knew he was lying, but...

“Come on, Scavenger, one more time and I’ll let you go. I promise this time,” he said, lying on top of me, naked.

We were both sweaty, and the pain in my ribs had faded against my severely demolished mental state.

He’d forced me to come so many times, I lost count. He kept promising to either let me go or turn the prisoners upstairs loose on me if I didn't...

As sick as it was, I was really starting to crave his dick in me. He’d been teasing me for days, playing with my clit, forcing me to touch myself, sometimes touching himself too, letting me see how big and hard he got before stroking himself until he spurted cum on me with a groan or a laugh or a bite of his lip and a grunting exhale...

Then he’d make me come until I was babbling and crying and so tired and sore I couldn’t move, not even when he nicked me with that fucking knife of his. A few times…but whatever drugs he’d put in me made me…absurdly susceptible to whatever he was doing.

After the first day, I started praying for sleep. Every part of my body was alive with pain. That on top of all the physical exertion…it was too much.

After the second day, I started to hallucinate just a bit. And that’s when I started praying for death.

When he got tired, he shot me full of something that kept me wide awake and totally immobile. I would lie there on the floor next to him and watch him doze on the sofa and wish he would wake up and kill me.

And on that third day, when the drugs started to wear off, I didn't even care.

His fingers stroked my dripping, aching cunt so gently I whined like a bitch in heat. My clit was throbbing and sore from all the action. My pussy hurt from the chafing, and even Kylo had started using his fingers and mouth more, telling me his cock was sore and chafed and wondering how many more times he'd have it in him...

He grimaced at me and bit my shoulder and guessed he could probably keep going at least another week.

But I couldn't.

I wanted it to stop. I wanted everything to stop.

I couldn’t take much more. “Come like a good girl, and I’ll stop, I promise,” he murmured again, licking the side of my neck. He flicked his fingers between my legs and I screamed when I came.

But he didn’t stop. I could see in his eyes he wouldn't. Would never let me go. The bruising force of his forearm crushed down onto my windpipe and he didn’t let up. I felt his cock slide between my thighs, pressed together from him straddling me on the floor.

I felt his heated length push insistently into me.

“You said…” I tried to gasp against the pressure on my throat.

I was a bloody, fucked-up mess. He was straddling me, bucking his hips into me, but this time pressure on my windpipe wouldn’t stop…finally.

I couldn’t breathe.

And I didn’t care anymore.

I couldn’t come, but I could feel when he did, as my whole body started to twitch and clench from lack of oxygen, squeezing around him.

He was bearing down into me with the most possessive look I’ve ever seen on a human face…

And I knew he wouldn’t stop.

And he didn’t.

“One more time, and I’ll let you die,” he whispered, pumping his hips against mine until the blackness came.

And just like that, he broke me.

 

When I awaken, I feel strange.

I am no longer the person I was. I am…altered somehow.

His large body curls around me on a bed. We are in the bedroom. The sheets are smooth and soft, and his warm breath teases against me rhythmically, ruffling the hair at my nape.

He’s sleeping.

I wonder if I should get up, if I have permission to use the bathroom. I don’t want to wake him. He might not appreciate being woken for me to ask about something so mundane.

My needs are nothing, worthless, of no import whatsoever. I can hold it.

I lay there in the semidarkness and allow his warmth to creep into me, just a little. It’s comforting. I’m safe here, although from what I don’t know or care.

When he murmurs against my neck, it does not startle me, so finely attuned am I to his every breath, every nuance of him.

His hand gently cups my bruised, broken ribs. It hurts like the devil, but I make no sound. I don’t want to disturb him if he drifts off again.

“Today I’m going to introduce you to Phasma,” he informs me in a voice still husky from the remnants of sleep.

I do not speak, nor am I curious.

“You’ll start training for Starkiller in full, now, Scavenger. You’ll be the best of the best and make me proud. Won’t you, baby girl?” he utters softly to me.

“Yes, sir,” I reply automatically, keeping my own voice soft to match his. I will start training. I will do my best to make him proud or I’ll die trying.

His eyes flicker over my face. He looks serious.

“You can ask me anything you want, Scavenger. I’ll allow one question.”

I try to think of a question that might please him.

Finally, I query, “What is Phasma, sir?”

He chuckles, and he kisses my neck.

“Phasma is going to be your new combat trainer. She’s damned good, better than me, even.” His hand drags gently through my hair, tilting my head back so I can look into his twinkling eyes. “She’s going to teach you how to fight like a girl. I expect you to learn how to kick ass, so you can be of service to me and the First Order.”

He grins at me with boyish charm, and I smile back, grateful for the opportunity.


	10. It’s a Tricky Recipe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: An out-of-body experience and resuscitation is described in this chapter. It may be disturbing to some of you, just a heads'-up.

# Chapter Ten – It’s a Tricky Recipe

**_Six Years Ago –_ **

We lie in silence for a few moments, and I glance surreptitiously around the room. Dim light flows in from the office beyond and from around the floor to ceiling windows on one side; if we were underground, then the facility must be on a cliff or something, with this room on an overhang.

My mind tries to comprehend it, but I give up after a minute. If I’m meant to know where I am, then he will tell me.

I drift in and out of thought, like a sailboat on the sea, vague questions floating along the surface then beyond before I can reach them. I am too lazy or apathetic or… _damaged – no, don’t think of that_ – to actively seek an answer.

However, I vaguely estimate it’s been a day or two since…since _it_ happened because my eye is no longer swollen shut.

I feel him prop himself up behind me, peering around my shoulder and turn to meet his gaze once again.

His eyes, rimmed in red, are once again blank, his expression inscrutable. His hair sticks up on one side revealing the prominent shell of his ear, and despite the days’ worth of scruff on his face, he looks younger. Boyish, almost.

I imagine I must look like hell, though, especially in comparison to _his_ rumpled, disheveled good looks.

He slides his palm carefully over my ribs again and I breathe slowly through my nose, trying not to wince or hiss at the pain. I do not want to displease him with a show of grievance.

Nevertheless, he reads it on my face, the pain, and scowls lightly, lifting the sheet away to scrutinize my ribs with his hooded gaze. I lie very still and allow him to examine me as he wishes.

He rolls me onto my back and sweeps a hand over the bruises and cuts mottling my skin. His scowl intensifies and his jaw clenches.

_No. Please. Don’t be angry._

My throat and neck ache, raw with pain. From the screaming, I’m sure. I feel a clutching panic rising in me at the sight of his displeasure.

His face changes instantly, the unreadable mask dropping back into place.

I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick.

_Tell him, or –_

“I’m going to –”

He must understand what’s happening even as I do, for he rolls off the bed and scoops me into his arms faster than I can articulate my indisposition.

The sudden motion of being carried swiftly into the bathroom worsens my nausea and I try with everything I have not to throw up on him.

He would not like that.

He sets me down on cold black tile, and I collapse into a kneel in front of the toilet as he hovers behind me.

And I wait. I wait for him to give me permission to be sick…

“Go ahead, baby. It’s okay…” he says softly.

I don’t hesitate to empty my guts into the toilet bowl, noticing vaguely he’s holding my hair away from my face. I want to cry at the tender gesture, but I’m in the throes of ferocious vomiting and it’s all I can do not to pass out from the pain spiking through my ribs and neck and formerly dislocated shoulder.

He doesn’t seem to mind how unpleasant and revolting I am in this moment, but says patiently, “It’s okay. Just the drugs making their way through your system. You’ll feel better when you get it all out.”

The retching _dramatically_ intensifies the pain in my ribs, causing me to gag until my chest seizes painfully. Acidic vomit burns its way up my throat and stings the cuts inside my mouth. My heads swims and spins. Tears of pain stream uncontrolled down my face.

And then they become tears of shame as I realize how disgusting and pathetic I must appear, huddled next to the toilet, naked on the floor.

Finally, I manage to stop heaving and he moves away, quickly returning with a damp washcloth, wiping my face as if I am a child.

I feel helpless and I hate that he seems obligated to take care of me by default. Because nobody else is here and I cannot do it myself, apparently.

I have to pee. I look at him feebly.

“I have to…um…” I try to tell him. My eyes are swimming with tears, and if I felt unembarrassed when we were in bed, powerful humiliation washes over me now.

I’m awake and more aware of my condition, but my body isn’t working right. My legs and arms can’t lift me, but they don’t need to. He wraps and arm around me and sets me on the toilet.

“You need a minute?” he asks. I do, but, and I know it sounds crazy, I don’t want him to leave my sight.

He’s the only thing anchoring me to reality.

I can’t explain it. Actually…I can. I just don’t want to think about –

He seems to recognize exactly what is going through my mind.

It’s like…he _knows_. Sympathy pours from his pretty amber eyes and it kind of makes my heart hurt.

Which is worse than the physical pain roiling through me.

He opens the bathroom door and I almost scream for him to stay, but he simply leans around the doorframe and punches some buttons in a console at the wall.

I can still see him. He's not leaving.

I wait for permission.

“Go ahead. It’s okay,” he utters.

He turns away and heads to the walk-in shower, turning on the spray and spending an inordinate amount of time adjusting the water while I pee. He’s giving me an odd concession of privacy without actually leaving me alone, and I am appreciative of it.

I watch the muscles of his back and shoulders and buttocks flex as he moves to the large bathtub and draws a bath, as well.

I’m finished, but I cannot stand. It’s all I can do to sit upright. I should not be self-conscious of being naked and on the toilet in front of this person…not after everything. But I feel deeply ashamed that I’m so… _weak_. Pitiful.

_He really did strip me down to my soul and break me into a million pieces. When he –_

I don’t want to think about it, though. Not yet. Not ever.

He seems to have decided I’ve had enough time, and he comes back, lifting me easily and gently transporting me into the shower. I pray to God he doesn’t set me down, or I know I’ll fall.

But he doesn’t, he just stands under the spray and lets the water rinse the worst of the blood and three days of sex and filth away.

_Why is he being so nice to me?_

And it hits me again, in a powerful wave.

I’m disgusting. I’m… _vile_. Foul and frail and insignificant and –

Humiliated, choking gasps rise up out of me. I can’t help it.

I’m nothing.

I’m nobody.

"I'm sorry," I sob over and over again as he shushes me. 

“It’s okay, you know,” he mutters, letting the water spray over us both. “A remnant of the…programming…you’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

 _No. It isn’t okay_ , I want to argue _. I won’t be okay. I’m useless, a worthless, empty vessel, of no value or importance to anyone._

He’d enlightened me quite thoroughly over the past few days.

Not even death would be a reprieve available to me, as I’d damned well learned up close and first-hand.

Because at the end? When I finally broke? I’ll never forget it.

I couldn’t breathe, and he was crushing my windpipe and watching me die as he fucked me one last time. Waiting expectantly for the light to leave my eyes.

And then I was outside of my body, somehow, drifting, watching myself lie there, helpless, pathetic, dying underneath him, not even trying to fight. I didn’t want to fight.

And it occurred to me then that not one soul in the world cared whether I lived or died. Not. One.

It was the most frightening and shattering moment of my life, when it happened, when I … left my body…

It was like...being trapped on the other side of a mirror. I could see everything, but had no control over any of it because control belonged to the people on the other side of the glass.

And I watched as he scrambled to kneel next to me, naked, his dark head bending over me to put his mouth on mine and breathe into me and pump his large hands over my chest. I looked like a doll, I thought, lifeless and empty and alone...

His head bent over mine and I watched as my ribcage expanded with air...and I breathed again…

He brought me back.

And when I was on the floor again, instead of hovering above us, he was looking at me with eyes like coals from the pit of darkness itself.

And…I just…gave up.

I’d never felt so alone.

He promised I would not feel that soul-crushing loneliness again. And as long as I listened to him, and did my best to make him happy, he’d never send me back.

He promised. I knew then every word he’d ever spoken to me was the gospel truth.

I went into that horrible chair, after.

It didn’t hurt, but whatever happened couldn’t have been good.

I agreed to let him lie me in that chair and put things into my mind and I can’t remember – any of it, _any of it_ – all I know is now, I belong to him. And I will be his weapon, his spy, or his slut. Whatever he needs.

As long as he doesn’t leave me alone. As long as he never sends me back to that place.

After...he lifted me from the chair and carried me into the bedroom and assured me I wouldn’t remember any of this someday. That when I was “initiated” this whole nightmare would be erased.

I cling to that promise with everything I have.

Logically, I understand what happened was necessary in order to get me into the state of mind required for the Starkiller program to work. I’m not _totally_ stupid. I mean. I _get_ it. Some part of me knew this was coming – even my lawyer had explained when I signed the…

_You think because you signed a piece of paper you’re getting out of this alive? You dumb bitch. That was really fucking stupid, Rey._

_No. Don’t think…_

I just thought I’d be doing everything…more on my own. I never realized I’d be tied so closely to someone else. So _dependent_.

He tucked me into bed, and I didn’t want to be alone, and he seemed to know it, so he slipped in next to me and held me for a long time.

All I could do was lie there and shiver uncontrollably as the drugs he’d given me to keep me awake and compliant for days finally wore off.

And then I slept.

Now he holds me under the steaming hot water and watches my expression and I am a pane of shattered glass, held intact only by surface tension.

He can break me again right now if he wants to. With just a word.

But after a few minutes under the warm spray of the shower, he simply carries me to the tub and carefully deposits me into gloriously hot water and slides in behind me.

“You’ll feel better after this,” he promises. He says it, so I believe him. He wouldn’t lie to me.

I sit in the hot water, hunched between his outstretched legs on either side of me and allow him to soap my hair and neck and shoulders and underarms and breasts.

My scalp is exquisitely tender from when he dragged me down the hallway. It seems like it happened years ago.

He cups water in his large hands and rinses my hair and my skin and I wait for him to tell me what to do next.

I do feel less disgusting now.

“Ribs still hurt?” he murmurs.

“Yessir,” I reply automatically. I would do anything for some painkillers. But I doubt that is possible, especially if I am to begin combat training today. I will need to be sharp and clear.

And the ribs will take time to heal, and that means days and weeks of pain.

I will handle it. He saw fit to break them, so I will do my best to take whatever punishment he deigns to employ.

I will do as I am told.

I’ll sit here in this tub with Kylo until the end of time, if that is what he wishes.

We sit in the steamy water and I have no idea what time it is or what day it is or anything. I do not care. The only thing concerning me is that I am not alone.

We sit until my fingers prune and my stomach rumbles loudly with hunger.

I vaguely recall it’s been a while since I’ve eaten anything.

As if on cue, I hear the door outside the bathroom open.

I don’t know who it is, but it is of no import to me.

But he hears it, too, and slips his legs from around me, stepping out with a quiet splash. He wraps a towel around his waist before reaching in to lift me out.

“Can you walk? If I let go?” he bids, holding me upright against him.

_One more time and I’ll let you go._

No. Don't think.

I watch a drop of water slide from his collarbone down his perfectly sculpted right pectoral muscle.

“I can try, sir,” I tell him, determined to prove myself capable of doing something on my own.

He releases me, hesitant, and I crumble to the floor.

I hear a rough curse and he catches me.

My head spins wildly as he lifts me again and carries me, naked and dripping, into the bedroom where a handsome, red-haired man awaits us. The man wears a pristine white lab coat. A doctor?

I notice a tray of food on a table near the bed.

For the first time since waking, I have the overwhelming urge to ask a question.

“Can I eat some of that? Please?”

The man watches me with extreme concern, pale eyes alight with something akin to fury. He glares at Kylo accusingly.

“What the hell did you do to her, Ren?” he spits angrily. He has a British accent and it’s very nice. Soothing, in spite of his critical tone.

Kylo sets me on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He drapes the sheet over me and props a pillow behind my back before turning to the strange man, hissing, “I’ll explain later. Can you just look at her, please?”

My eyes stray back to the tray of food and my stomach growls with near-desperation.

I am preparing to _beg_ for something to eat.

But thankfully I don’t have to. The doctor sets the tray over my lap and asks if I can manage to feed myself or if I need help.

He’s…kind about it. He is clean-shaven with neatly trimmed hair, and quite attractive, although in a pale, refined way. If Kylo is all bristling, half-wild, simmering darkness, then this man is banked fire, polished. Meticulous and bright, somehow.

“I can manage it, doctor, thank you,” I whisper, I look to Kylo for permission to eat, and he nods.

Without further encouragement, I shakily scoop a spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth. It’s piping hot, but I don’t care. It’s so good a tear leaks from my eye and streams down my cheek.

“I’m Hux,” the doctor says cautiously, watching me shovel in another bite without waiting for it to cool.

Hux turns to Kylo and snaps acidly, “Ren? An aside? Right now?”

I pause, panicking, because Kylo is leaving the room, but he merely sweeps a dark gaze over me before following the red-haired doctor.

They leave the door cracked open, and I can hear them.

_He’s just outside. You’re okay._

It’s none of my business what they are discussing, so I focus on my breakfast, and I wonder if I should leave some for Kylo.

I want to gobble down everything on the tray, but as far as I know, Kylo has not eaten anything, either. I carefully portion out half of the food on the tray for him to share, in case he’s hungry, too.

I eat half a piece of toast and almost sob in wonder at how delicious it is, thick with butter and crisp around the crust.

And then I hear them, arguing in low-voiced undertones. I continue to eat. There’s applesauce, and ginger tea, and a small bowl of yogurt with nuts and berries on it. My stomach gurgles and churns as I methodically fill it.

Their conversation comes through in bits and pieces. I’m not consciously trying to eavesdrop, but I can’t help but overhear some of it.

_“What the devil did you do to her, Ren?”_

Kylo bites out the words, _“…fucking break…it was either that or … do it himself…know what that means…”_

A long pause. I cannot hear the doctor’s softly flung question.

_“…asked if I was up for it, and I said I was…nothing that hasn’t been...any of us…won’t remember, anyhow…”_

_“She looks like fucking death warmed over…the hell is she supposed to start combat training today?”_

_“…I’ll talk to Phas…to go easy..."_

_“Oh, that’ll go over splendidly.”_ Unmistakable sarcasm laces Hux’s words, and a thread of worry unfurls in my belly.

 _“Speaking of death…a look…after…”_ A very long explanation in low tones.

_“WHAT? … lucky to be alive … not fucking catatonic!”_

Kylo’s voice gets too quiet for me to hear again, and a few minutes later they come into the room, bringing much more tension with them than there was before.

Doctor Hux’s eyes flare with blue fire, but I know it is directed at Kylo, not me. Still, I feel strangely defensive on Kylo’s behalf.

“Rey?” the doctor asks politely. “I’d like to examine you, once you’ve finished your breakfast, if that is all right?” He eyes the half-eaten food on the tray.

“I’m finished, doctor,” I tell him, looking to Kylo.

Kylo stands next to the doctor with a formidable glower at the tray. He crosses his burly arms across his naked chest and I swallow.

“Not until that food is gone, you’re not,” he commands.

“Yes, sir. But aren’t you…?” 

For some reason, he looks disconcerted. 

Kylo’s eyes soften as he understands I meant to save some for him…in case he wants it.

Perhaps he wasn’t expecting this? Maybe I made a mistake?

My eyes well with tears.

_Please. Please don’t be upset with me._

His mouth works to form an answer. “Rey. Just…just eat,” he finally says. He doesn’t owe me an explanation…and he looks horribly embarrassed as Hux turns a wrathful glare on him…

“ _Really?_ The _Jakku_ Protocol, Ren? Without medical supervision? After she was fucking clinically _dead_?”

Kylo’s fulminating stare brings the doctor up short. “Yes,” he bites out. “It was either that…or wait for Snoke. I made a call. Snoke is halfway across the world, and you know time is important during the imprinting phase.”

At the name Snoke, my entire being curdles with dread. I have not met Snoke in person, but I’ve heard things over the past year. Really disturbing things.

_Snoke thinks I am the only person who is going to be able to really break you…I’m Snoke’s very own personal attack dog…_

Hux fumes, “If this all goes to hell, I’m not helping you. I don’t care –”

Kylo interrupts him with a furious inhalation.

 _They have a history, these two,_ I realize _._

Hux’s gaze drifts over me thoughtfully and he murmurs, “Careful, Ren. That your personal interests not interfere with orders from Snoke…”

Kylo looks murderous, but merely nods, a sharp inclination of his beautiful dark head.

He turns to me. “Eat the rest of that breakfast, Rey. And then the doctor will take a look at you. And see you’re just fine.”

He snatches up a satchel at the end of the bed and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

I finish the rest of the food on the tray in two minutes, under the watchful eye of Doctor Hux.

While I eat, the doctor asks me a few pointed questions.

“Do you know why you are here? In this facility?”

I swallow a bite of oatmeal and nod. “I’ve been recruited as a potential agent for a clandestine project on behalf of the First Order, doctor.”

“Do you know what the First Order is?” he prods.

“The First Order is a government-sanctioned research facility, sir. Operating independently but partially funded via military contracts to –” He cuts me off with a wave of his hand, but it isn’t rude.

“Do you understand what happened to you over the past few days?” he asks, more gently this time. Something behind his eyes tells me to be honest.

“In order to advance in my training…I was required to be…reprogrammed, doctor,” I explain slowly. “I was…physically and mentally put into such a state as to make that possible.”

He nods kindly at my extreme understatement of recent events.

“How are you feeling…emotionally?”

_I feel naked. Not just because I am naked, literally, I mean I feel like I’ve been stripped down to the core of myself and scraped out until I am an empty cask. I am...hollow. A shell._

I take a moment to digest the implication of the question and decide honesty is the best policy, once again. “I’m…weak, and it’s…embarrassing. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t feel like myself. I feel vulnerable.”

He nods again, and says comfortingly, “That’s to be expected. You’ll feel better soon, and Ren will stay nearby to keep an eye on you.”

Those words bring relief pouring into me for the first time in ages. As long as Kylo is near, I will be all right.

The doctor is younger than I would have guessed at first glance. He is very gentle as he listens to my breathing and heart rate and checks me for a concussion and tells me I likely have two broken ribs and probably another cracked one.

He examines me from head to toe and informs me I am in “surprisingly good condition, all things considered.”

Other than the ribs, a patch of missing hair on the back of my head, and the various contusions and nicks and cuts, I seem to be in remarkable health.

My ribs and shoulder are throbbing, so I am slightly inclined to disagree with the good doctor, but Kylo has just returned to my bedside and I won’t be argumentative in front of him. Kylo has dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater. He looks very commanding and expensive and...I cannot take my eyes off him.

Hux instructs me to rest and drink plenty of water to flush the remains of the drugs from my system. I will do as he says, unless Kylo instructs me to do otherwise.

I look at him in question, and Kylo returns my regard guiltily, knowing full well I am not going to be taking anything easy at all today.

He seems hell-bent on hustling the doctor away, now that he knows I am all right.

And I do feel all right, despite Kylo’s underlying moodiness clouding the room. I feel a million times better after having gotten some food in my stomach.

Until I throw it all up five minutes later.

 

**_Present Day –_ **

It is almost too easy for Poe and me to get past their little blockade.

Under the guise of surrender, we willingly let them take us out of our car and walk us to theirs. They are holding guns on us, and Poe plays it meek, although I know it is an act.

I look… well, I look like I can’t do much damage at all. I’m wearing a scrap of a dress, no panties, no shoes, and I hang my head submissively.

I’m sure I appear pretty harmless.

But. They should know better.

And, they should _not_ let me get within arms’ reach of their weapons.  Oh wait. Too late.

Before Poe can shrug off his captor, I have disarmed mine and shot him in the temple.

The driver of their vehicle is next, dead with a shot between the eyes before he can even raise his gun to me. He should have ducked, although that would have only given him a few more seconds of life…

Poe’s captor drops like a stone when I shoot him, too.

It takes less than five seconds, and Poe stares at me in slight awe.

They should have sent more men.

“We need to move.” I snap. Poe nods agreeably and shrugs out of his bomber jacket, while I snatch the unfired sidearms from two of the corpses.

He passes me his jacket with an unsure look on his face. I realize he is afraid of me.

I take it with a brief “thanks” because I don’t want to get hypothermia and I think I might be going into shock a little.

My feet are blocks of ice, but I ignore the discomfort.

I hop in the passenger seat and reach over to turn the key in the ignition. Heat pours out of the vents at my feet as Poe pulls the dead driver from the car before taking his place at the wheel.

He expertly maneuvers the car in the opposite direction, and we speed away.

Finally, Poe shoots me a curious glance when I sigh with exhaustion. I should try to stay awake and alert until I know it’s safe.

“Okay. You can ask me anything you want, Dameron. I’ll allow one question,” I tell him, thinking to break the strained silence.

Poe considers for a minute, eyes glued to the road for signs of threat.

Finally, he inquires, “What…did Ben Solo do to you? To make you so angry with him?”

I grit my teeth. I could lie, but what’s the point?

Poe looks at me cautiously. He’s wondering if he’s overstepped…

So, I answer him. “He lied to me. Drugged me. Raped me. Then he broke me.” 

And then he killed me.

Poe glances at me in surprise. But I continue, “And then he made me his obedient little dog.”

 _And now he’s going to find out just how much of a bitch I can be,_ I think.

This bitch has a bite. And next time I see that bastard…he’s gonna feel it.


	11. If I'd Known You Were Coming, I'd Have Baked You a Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying Cake so far - your comments spur me to new heights, and I'm hoping I will catch up very soon. I LOVE reading your thoughts, reactions, and theories, so please keep them coming. 
> 
> Enjoy the next helping, and remember to always save room for dessert...

# Chapter Eleven - If I’d Known You Were Coming, I’d Have Baked a Cake

 

**Present Day –**

Poe and I make our way to civilization cautiously, but quickly.

The longer we linger in…wherever the fuck we are, the easier it will be for him to find us…

Poe has just informed me he has absolutely no way to get ahold of Luke Skywalker, he was just following orders.

Damn.

“We need to get to New York,” I inform him.

He glances at me, surprised.

“Don’t you think we should lie low for a while?”

“No.” I shut him down before he can question me too much.

“Can I ask what’s in New York?”

“Ben’s mother.”

“Leia?” Poe is surprised. “What do you…what are you going to do?”

My breath comes out in a frustrated sigh and I turn my full gaze on Poe. He needs to fucking listen, now. I’m finally starting to put the pieces together.

Poe grips the steering wheel and stares at the road, but I can feel the tension twisting between us.

He’s scared of me.

He should be.

I keep my face composed as I answer him. “I’m going to execute my _mission_. And you’re going to help me. I need to talk to her. Find Luke. She’s Luke's twin sister, isn’t she?”

Poe nods abruptly but keeps his eyes on the road.

I spot a little Mom and Pop gas station up ahead and order him to pull over. We should find new transportation as quickly as possible.

I’m sure Ben is going to put every effort into finding us again. Especially now.

_I’m coming for you, sweetheart…_

We pull up and Poe pops the hood while I disable the electrical system.

We stroll inside, arms around each other, casual as fuck and I try my best to act as if it is perfectly normal that I don’t have shoes on my feet.

Poe is a good actor and I don’t know how he does it, other than tooth-rotting levels of charm, but he manages to convince the little old lady behind the counter we are stranded newlyweds and having car trouble…she calls her husband from the back room and they follow Poe outside.

I wander through the empty store and find a pair of flip flops and steal a candy bar and bottle of water. I glance outside. Poe and the old man and his wife stare under the open hood of the car, confused.

_Whatever could the problem be? Oh, someone pulled all the fuses…hmmm…_

While they are distracted, I call the number Poe recited to me, using the grubby, putty-toned rotary phone behind the counter. A land line. Unreal. I didn’t know people still used those…

Poe said he has people in the area and they were tracking him. I wonder grimly where his tracking device might be hiding.

_Hope it's something easily passed through the digestive tract..._

The person on the other end of the line answers on the second ring.

“Administration?”

“It’s Scavenger," I say around a mouthful of candy bar. "Come and get us.”

 

 

The penthouse on the Upper East Side is everything someone from old money would have. Not only is the view incredible, but the location, the architecture, all of it screams money, money, _money_.

Sure, the whole Skywalker family has spent generations building its empire on a bloody war machine of military research and government-funded contracts, but, well, can you blame them?

They need to eat, right?

And, I mean. The money’s really good. Can't say no to that. 

It’s been two weeks since I fled the cabin, had Poe’s people pick us up, found a safehouse, and started to plan.

I mingle with the crowd at Leia’s Organa’s party, fully aware of my mysterious status, and daintily sip at a flute of Veuve Clicquot.

I’m dressed to kill, literally and figuratively.

I know the likelihood of Ben showing up will be extremely low, as he and his mother have been estranged for ages.

Nevertheless. I’m not an idiot.

He _might_ just have the balls to make an appearance, especially if he’s figured out who sent Poe after me...and that I'm looking for Luke...

I really need to talk to her. This is a calculated risk.

I suspect she has an idea of where I might find her twin brother.

Luke Skywalker. Ben’s uncle, and the scientific genius who, building upon the work of his father before him, advanced mind control technology into the next millennium with his breakthroughs. Twenty years ago, the Death Star program brought a whole new game to espionage.

Not that anyone but a handful of high-level government agents knows about it…and a few other individuals who, over the years, have either gone missing or turned up suspiciously dead.

But it was Luke who came up with the idea to program someone to be a spy and a weapon and a virtually limitless human hard drive all in one…

For all I know, I have the entire Library of fucking Congress in my head.

It’s probably a bit more sinister than that, actually. 

Luke Skywalker. The one who contacted me a year ago and offered to unravel the mind-fuck that Kylo Ren and the First Order put me through, then send me into hiding with Endor and an accompanying Alderaan safeguard program, alongside whatever Starkiller had locked away in my head.

Endor incorporates sublunary programming. Designed to run on base instinct. Undetectable, Luke said, basically keeping the rest of my personality on ice, while my corporeal self is functioning at the most primal, fundamental level until Alderaan is activated. That explains a lot of my behavior over the past few months...

Luke, who also planted the Alderaan program in my mind, an override function designed to be triggered by a set of keywords, and only to be used in case of an emergency or when it was _time_...

Although I’m glad he did it, I’m wondering if Poe’s attempt to save himself wasn’t a _bit_ preemptive.

He probably should have let himself be tortured, then waited until we were taken to the First Order, so I could get in and tear the place apart from the inside.

Now it’s going to be kind of difficult to get back in…

Luke is going to be pissed. If I can find him.

Well. No turning back, now.

That Alderaan program is impossible to hack, and once it’s been done, it’s done. Can’t be overwritten.  

Basically, it wipes out all other protocols and reboots my memory. Jakku, gone. Endor, gone. Alderaan, now that it's been used, gone. Starkiller...not gone.

Huh. Guess Luke wasn't as smart as he thought.

Anyhow. Other than the times when I was actually _physically_ blacked out from drugs or knocked out from a blow to the head, I can remember everything, now.

Luke showed me the light. And then? He put me to sleep, back into hiding, where I was already supposed to be waiting for the First Order to extract whatever is locked away in my head. Waiting for Kylo Ren to tell me what to do next.

Kylo kept tabs on me online and he must have realized something was off. But, not even Kylo knew my exact location; and for some reason, I wasn't responding to his prompts to meet me.

That’s why he had to lure me to that stupid beer festival under the guise of Ben fucking Solo.

And when he found me...he must have known something else was in my head. He and Hux tried to break in, but they couldn't? And…that’s why he wanted to draw someone into coming for me?

To find out what Luke put in there?

Maybe that’s why he seemed so angry with me when we met up weeks ago. I thought he was playing out a sex fantasy, but then…I thought a lot of things. I was mistaken. 

And now I know the truth.

Ben figured out I’d turned; and now he’s pissed at me, and apparently taking my defection personally.

Fuck him and his twisted, psycho games.

Knowing Ben – Kylo’s – propensity for vengeance, oh, yes I’m sure he is wildly angry.

_Playing around with me was an exceedingly bad idea…and now? I think I’m going to play around with you…_

And he would have wanted to take full advantage to humiliate me, first. Bang me in a Sanican. Fucking kidnap me.

Play along with my fifty-million-dollar offer…hold a gun to my head while I let his _boyfriend_ jack him off into my mouth.

The thought of Hux makes me cringe just a bit. I'll...have to think about that later.

Whatever Luke programmed me with, I’m sure offering myself to his nephew for a fifty-million-dollar, two-week fuck-fest wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he told me to go back to “sleep” and wait for further orders…

Or. Maybe that was _exactly_ what he had in mind with Endor. Base instinct, indeed.

Meanwhile. Ben figured out something was wrong – _different_ – with me. And reported it to Snoke.

And now Snoke wants me “fixed” or killed.

Thanks to Poe unlocking Alderaan, though, I’m going to be damned hard to kill.

And I think I’m done letting these First Order assholes mess with my head.

And I _really_ think I’m going to fuck up all their shit, just as soon as I find Luke…

I spot Leia across the room, and to her credit, she doesn’t bat an eyelash at my uninvited appearance in her home. Of course, I look like I belong here, amongst her other glittery guests.

I really hope she doesn't recognize me from the gossip rags...

My gown is black, form-fitting, backless, and floor-length with a slit up the side that comes almost to my hip. Yes, it’s revealing, but that’s the point, right?

Distraction and access. Just in case.

And it’s comfortable, which is more than I can say for my shoes.

My dress though. I like it. The best part is how it drapes just perfectly to hide the slight bulge of the sheath on a garter at my inner thigh.

My hair is up, and I’ve managed to hide two throwing knives in the chignon. Other than that, I have a blade hiding in the cleavage, the only modest part of the dress. I also have a leaf-shaped push dagger in the fabric swooping artfully over the crack of my ass.

I work my way across the room, fully intending on cornering Leia and getting Luke’s whereabouts out of her.

She doesn’t hide, but she does not reciprocate my approach.

She is quite a bit shorter than I am, and I must lean low to kiss her cheek in greeting when I finally reach her.

“I'm a friend of Luke's.” I tell her simply, hoping that is enough explanation for my appearance. "My name's Rey."

Her dark eyes remind me painfully of Ben’s as she nods an acknowledgement.

“I know who you are, but … I don’t know where he is,” Leia tells me. She looks like she's telling the truth. Damn. Luke must have told her about me.

I sigh.

I knew this would be difficult. But I _need_ to find Luke Skywalker. He’s the only one who can un-fuck my mind.

“I know you think you can’t tell me. I know you think I can’t be trusted,” I start.

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” growls a deep voice from behind me.

Dammit.

Fuck.

Really?

He steps into my line of sight and I do my best not to visibly react.

He’s wearing a tux, cut to perfection to sculpt around his massive shoulders, starched shirt stretched over the expanse of his chest with just the faintest hint of strain over the buttons…someone built like him will always have trouble finding perfectly fitting clothes, I guess.

His dark hair curls gently around his face and he’s clean-shaven. I catch a hint of his scent and whatever it is, my mouth is fucking watering.

He looks…absolutely delicious.

And I hate him.

Leia’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of her semi-estranged son, who swoops in like a goddamn vampire to peck his mother’s cheek before turning to me.

He. Is. Furious.

Ben lifts my hand to that beautiful mouth and kisses it softly, a warm puff of breath sending aching shivers from the back of my hand to shoot tingles down the insides of my thighs.

His eyes are on fucking _fire,_ smoldering into mine with unabated threat.

Shit.

He’s angry, and so am I, goddammit, and we cannot make a scene and we both know it.

“Ben!” Leia gasps in pleased shock. “I thought you were still out of the country!”

If the rumors are true, these two very rarely speak to each other and have been virtually estranged for well over a decade. But, Leia would naturally keep tabs on her son, I guess. I don’t really know how these parent-kid things work.

“Mother,” he returns nonchalantly. The undercurrents between them, though, are intense. These are very deep waters, I realize with an uncomfortable twinge.

Mother and son watch each other cautiously, taking in the changes wrought by time on each other’s features since they last saw each other in person.

Ben suddenly reminds me quite strongly of a guilty little boy as he returns his mother’s solemn gaze.

I harden my heart against the emotional fluxes in this little reunion. As much as Ben appears to be a sorrowful, vulnerable child, I know _exactly_ what he’s capable of.

And I’m tempted to tell his mother on him. I suspect she has absolutely no clue what he’s been up to all this time. Well. Unless she reads page six.

Ben returns his searing gaze to me. And then I decide to keep my mouth shut.

For now.

“You two look like you need to talk,” Leia mutters, apparently sensing the hostility scything between us. “Try to keep it civil, please. I have guests.”

Oh, no. I’m not going anywhere with your piece of shit son, Leia.

I shake my head in denial, not giving a shit if Leia sees me upset. I take a large gulp of champagne to cover my nerves. I _do_ care if Ben sees me upset, however.

“Rey. We need to talk.” Ben is very convincing, but no. He’s a liar and bad and dangerous, and I should probably go and try to find another way to find Luke Skywalker…

“I don’t have anything to say to you, _Kylo Ren,_ ” I hiss.

Leia turns white and drops her glass in shock. Ben turns in alarm to glance at his mother.

Everything stops for just a moment. The entire world just…halts.

“What did you just say?” Leia spits at me.

What the hell?

“Mother. I’m sure it was a joke. In _very_ poor taste.” Ben growls, glaring at me as if he’d like to burn me at the stake…

I look at him, incredulous. He returns my stare evenly, no sign of any emotion other than a vague simmering anger.

I have no idea what is happening, but a uniformed server rushes over to discreetly clear away Leia’s broken glass and Ben grips my arm with vicelike hands.

“Come on.”

“I’m…sorry?” I say over my shoulder to a stunned Leia as Ben hustles me away through the crowd. I’m pleased to note he’s limping a little from when I got him in the knee with that chair…Good.

I wonder if the knife wound I gave him in the shoulder is bothering him, and I really fucking hope it is…

A few shocked murmurs follow us, and it is obvious that people are watching.

And it occurs to me they probably recognize me from the newspapers when we went clubbing and partying and…

I’m scandalous, I realize. People are shocked at me, at us.

Although I feel the full weight of their judgement is directed more at me than Ben Solo.

Naturally.

He’s the man, after all, and his outrageous little peccadillos must be excused and ignored. Whereas I’m just the crazy slut who let him…

Ugh.

God, I hate society.

But right now, I hate _him_ more.

He’s leading me to the edge of the room and mutters against my hair, “You look pretty, baby. How many blades you hiding?”

Five. And at the heat rolling off him like a furnace, I’m not sure it’s going to be enough.

He sweeps a hand over my hip, then cups it around my ribcage, feeling for a weapon, while looking as if he’s merely groping me.

 _Don’t. Just don’t_ , I want to scream at him.

He must see it in my face, and his eyes flash dangerously as he grips my arm and steers me through the party.

“Rey.”

“What?”

“I need you to fucking listen to me,” he purrs like a lover, squinting a smile at his mother’s guests as they make a path for him to drag me through.

 For some reason I’m so turned on I can barely speak.

“I know everything I need to know about you…” I fling defiantly back at him, although I keep my voice low. I'm not falling for it. Not again.

He steers me down a corridor into an immaculately decorated spare bedroom and pitches me inside with an ungentle shove.

“That wasn’t very courteous of you,” I tell him, straightening my spine. “Does your mother know what bad manners you have?”

I guess I’m going to have to kick his ass in heels this time.

Fine.

He flicks the lock on the door and I grin at him. Oh. Very fine.

“Ready for round two so soon?” I taunt, cracking my neck. I hold my hand out palm up, and gesture _come on_ , ready to knock him the fuck out.

He smiles, slow and easy like sweet molasses, and he simply stands there licking his chops.

He doesn’t look like he’s squaring for a fight. He looks like he can’t decide if he wants to punish me or rip my clothes off. Maybe a little bit of both.

Either way can’t be good, and I don’t trust him one damn inch.

“How’s the knee?” I ask spitefully, hoping to jar that…rapacious look off his face.

“It fuckin’ hurts like hell,” he admits with a grim chuckle, but I don’t see what’s so funny about it. “Shoulder, too.” He rolls the shoulder where I got him with the knife. I really should have aimed for his liver.

A dark eyebrow wings up in question.

“Rey?”

_Stop saying my name._

He looks so goddamn appealing and open and earnest, it takes me a minute to remind myself how good an actor he is.

“You still want to kill me?” he asks softly.

“Fuck, yeah,” I snap.

“Not everything you believe is real, you know,” he finally tells me, exasperated.

Oh, bull-fucking-shit. “You’re nothing but a dirty liar and a –”

I slip my blade from the sheath at my thigh and flip it expertly through my fingers.

“A what?” he grunts, watching my blade cautiously. Then his expression darkens. “Say it.”

An errant tear slides down my cheek. “This time, I _am_ going to gut you,” I promise.

“What am I?” he utters, ignoring my very credible threat. “Say it, Rey. Go on.”

He _wants_ me to say it. How can he? How can he stand there and…?

Rage heats my cheeks and another stray tear slips out before I can stop it. “Murderous snake.”

I can’t think of anything bad enough to call him.

I _hate_ him.

He narrows his eyes and purses his lips, nodding slightly, as if he agrees completely. “Fair enough.”

I’m breathing hard, and I shouldn’t be. Why is he upsetting me so much?

I should just kill him and get it over with.

Although…I guess if I murder Leia’s son in her own house, then she probably won’t help me find Luke…

“You need to let the past die. Kill it if you have to,” he steps forward and sweeps a ravishing glace over me, causing my entire body to heat with unwelcome desire. “Only then can you become what you were meant to be…”

I lick my lips, hypnotized. “And what, exactly, am I _meant_ to be?”

He strides across the room and grips my chin possessively. 

_“Mine."_

 

**Six Years Ago –**

Training with Phasma does not go as expected.

At all.

She takes one look at me and rolls her eyes before hurling a penetrating stare at Kylo.

The thing you need to know about Phasma is…she’s a badass bitch.

I like her.

She’s as tall as Kylo, and he’s about six-foot three.

But she acts like she’s six-foot eight.

She’s got short, platinum-blond hair that curls at the ends, and pale, flawless skin.

Her eyes are crystal-blue, and either icy with disdain or snapping with humor; there is no in-between with her emotions. She’s smart and quick and brutal.

She can tell instantly I’m not up for anything too hardcore and she fully, visibly blames Kylo for it.

While I felt defensive when Hux threw shade earlier, with Phasma…I’m okay with it.

She is absolutely not intimidated by Kylo’s sullen posturing and glowering stares.

It’s…almost like watching a married couple. Whereas with Hux and Kylo, I feel more like I’m watching brothers, Phasma and Kylo’s relationship fascinates me.

Phasma’s sharp, omniscient eyes scan me once, then again, taking in my black eye and wobbly legs clad in black leggings.

“What the fuck did you do to this girl, Ren?” she growls at him, walking around me in a circle while I stand at attention for her inspection.

“Nothing that wasn’t done to any one of us, as I already explained to Hux,” Kylo replies flatly. I sense his agitation, but I keep my eyes fixed on Phasma.

She just kind of steals the show.

“How the bloody hell am I supposed to kick her ass when it looks like she’s already been to hell and back?” Phasma asks, circling me again.

_Hell._

_Welcome to Hell._

Don’t think about it.

_Abandon all hope._

_You’re nothing. Nobody._

No.

No. Don’t think…

I freeze.

_I’m not ready for this._

“She’s stronger than she knows, Phas,” Kylo insists.

Your ass belongs to me, Scavenger.

If Kylo says I am strong, then I am. I straighten my spine.

She gives me an appraising second-glance. “Hmmm. She’ll do. You can leave.”

Kylo’s jaw clenches and he rakes me with a look. _Don’t die._

“Go on.” Phasma waves a long, elegant hand at Kylo. She takes my arm in a surprisingly gentle grasp. “We’ve got girl stuff to discuss.”

And with that, she marches me away from Kylo, leaving him open-mouthed and somewhat huffy as we head down the hall to the one room in this facility that I am very familiar with and actually like being in.

The gym.

All in all, it is a good day.

I only throw up twice from the pain in my ribs, but lunchtime more than makes up for it. My lunch stays down, and Phasma puts me through my paces, and I know she is taking it easy on me, but only to a point.

This is good. I want to work hard. I want to make him proud, so I can be whatever he needs.

_You are nothing but what I tell you to be._

By the time I return to Kylo’s quarters, where I was instructed to head to immediately, I am exhausted, sweaty, and terribly sore.

Every part of my body aches, but in a good way. I am sure I will sleep like a baby tonight.

He is not there when I enter the rooms.

Part of me is shocked I am willingly stepping into a place that had been quite literally a living hell for me just days ago.

However. I am filthy and sore and need a shower and am curious as to how I might find something to eat in this place.

I wonder where Kylo might be, and my heartrate kicks up a notch.

He promised I would not be alone, and yet here I am all by myself.

I ignore the chair in the corner of the room and head directly for the shower.

I scrub quickly and efficiently, toweling dry before turning to observe myself in the mirror over the polished black marble bathroom vanity.

At first, I take in the bruises and marks as part of the deal. And then…I can’t help it.

I think of _it_.

That moment when _it_ happened. When I –

My heart shudders in my chest and I draw in a shaking breath and turn from the mirror, snatching a towel to wrap around myself.

I’m not hungry anymore.

I don’t know what I am.

I’m nothing.

I’m no one.

I lie on the bed, waiting for someone to come and tell me what to do next, and I doze.

 

I’m standing in the bathroom, naked, looking into the mirror over the vanity when a wave of terror hits me so forcefully, I … lose touch with reality just a bit.

I watch myself from behind the glass, and I am trapped there in that mirror, the _real_ me screaming to get out.

I’m stuck.

I’m stuck in that mirror and I can’t get out.

_You’re not alone. Look. Your reflection…she’s there…she just doesn’t know you’re trapped._

I’m imprisoned behind the glass and pounding my fist against it as I scream and watch myself on the other side.

_Help me._

The other Rey on the opposite side notices me. But something else is there with her.

We're not alone.

She raises a hand to the mirror and smiles gently, reassuring, but she doesn’t _see_ the danger right behind her. She needs to use her eyes and fucking _look_.

He’s here, too.

_Rey! Fucking look! Use your eyes!_

She’s going to die, he’s coming for her, coming for her, and he’s going to…

A dark shadow, huge and malevolent, stands behind her and cups her face as she stares placidly into my panicked eyes.

I grow frantic with alarm. 

_Get away!_

But she doesn’t hear me. I smash my fist against the glass as hard as I can, I need to break it and save her he’s going to –

I scream until my throat burns, hoping she can hear.

_Lesson One. There is no hope. None._

The shadow’s black, soulless eyes bore into mine and he snaps her neck with violent twist and a wicked smile.

_No matter what happens at the end of this, you are going to die._

She crumbles like a rag doll and the creature’s sinister gaze locks on me hungrily.

_You're next._

He presses his face to the glass, breath fogging the mirror against my wide-eyed terror…his red tongue flicks out against the glass opposite my splayed palm.

I can almost feel it through the mirror.

“You’re not alone,” he rumbles brutally. “I’m here, too, now, aren’t I? An unwelcome guest?”

His tongue flicks out again, swiping at the glass that has suddenly dissolved and I can feel the wet hot stroke of him licking my hand.

“No.” I tell him, unable to move away.

_Lesson Two. You’re mine._

“Oh, yes,” he snarls, growling with such wicked promise my hair stands on end, “You’re _mine_ , Scavenger.”

 

 

“Rey!” An urgent murmur and huge hands, monster’s hands, are shaking my shoulder.

I thrash away in fear, adjusting my eyes to the dimly lit room.

I’m on a bed.

I’m in bed.

“Rey, stop! You’re fine. You’re fine,” he assures me. “It’s okay.”

I feel strong arms around me, warm breath shushing against my temple, against the goosebumps and cold sweat.

“I was alone,” I tell him, doing my very best not to sound accusatory. It is not my place to –

“You’re not alone,” he whispers. “I…had things to do and lost track of time. I should have been here.”

He does not owe me an apology, and yet it eases me.

“Bad dream?”

Yes. It was bad. Almost more terrifying than…that _other_ thing that happened, although I can’t say why…

“Yessir,” I answer over the thundering echo of my heartbeat in my ears.

“Yeah? Wanna tell me about it?” he asks softly.

_No._

“Do you want me to, sir?” I ask, dread pooling in my belly. I really don’t want to, but I will if he insists.

“It’s okay,” he says again. “They’ll fade, the nightmares. I promise.”

He’s been through this, too, I realize, recalling what he'd said to Phasma earlier _…nothing that wasn’t done to any one of us…_

He’s been through this, too.

He…went through that…that _thing_.

I swallow, and I am intensely curious for the first time.

“Did you have them, too…after? Sir?”

He replies “yes” so softly I can hardly hear it. More of a breath than a word.

“Were you…alone, too?” I ask more boldly.

“No.” His tone tells me he is unwilling to admit it. And although my curiosity has peaked, I know better than to continue this train of questioning.

I am wide awake and not going back to sleep anytime soon, so we lie there in silence, just…breathing together. It’s a strange kind of intimacy, with him still clothed, holding me in the near-dark, while I am naked and still in the residual throes of my nightmare.

It’s very strange, I think, knowing I am at his mercy and trusting him to take care of me.

My breathing gradually calms as he asks quietly about how the day went with Phasma. I tell him as much as I can, hoping it is a good, thorough answer.

Finally, he hums and seems satisfied with my reply. He shifts a little, “Try to get some sleep.”

But I can’t.

I’m scared. What if…I go back to that place? That dream?

After a few minutes of lying there he says, “Think about the reason why you signed up for all this. Your _Motivating Factor_.”

When I joined the Starkiller program, I was instructed to pick one thing to focus on when things got tough, something to meditate on.

“Would you tell me?” he asks. “What…yours is?”

 _Belonging_ , I think. _I just want to belong somewhere_.

I swallow and lie to him for the first time since I’ve woken up. I don’t know why. I just…don’t want him to know.

“Money.”

He stills. Even his breath stops.

He’s upset. Guilt swamps me, but I will not confess my lie.

_Please. Please don’t be angry._

So, I think to distract him.

“Can I ask a question, sir?” I whisper timidly.

He chuckles softly, the brief moment of anger passing. “You just did, Scavenger…but...I’ll allow one more.”

My eyes close and I snuggle closer into his comforting warmth, tentatively shaping my palm over the solid bulk of his chest.

“What was…what was yours? Your _Motivating Factor_?”

We lie there for a few minutes and I drift off, thinking he will not answer me. Which is fine. I should not have been so presumptuous.

But just before my eyes flutter closed, I hear his reply, spoken so softly I almost think I’m dreaming again.

_“Revenge.”_

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Pound Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hate sex commencing in three...two...one....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some filthy, delicious smut for all of you Cake-lovers. No carbs.
> 
> Your comments and kudos are better than porn. Enjoy your Cake...
> 
> XOXO!

* * *

# Chapter Twelve – Pound Cake

****

**_Present Day –_ **

At this startling revelation, I can’t decide what to do. So, naturally I freeze.

His cups my chin with one of those huge, warm hands and pierces me with his fathomless whiskey-brown gaze.

I could swim forever in that stare. Drown in it.

I died in it, once.

He’s so damn sexy in that immaculate tux. Dangerously handsome. I am reminded strongly of the first time we met, in that interrogation cell.

This encounter feels very similar.

With the notable exception that this time I’m armed and fully capable of handing his ass back to him on a platter.

“My mother’s house?” He shakes his head and clucks his tongue in mock admonishment. “What on earth were you hoping to find here?”

Ah. But he’s still trying to interrogate me. _Uh, nope. Not this time, big guy._

“Speaking of your mother, why did she flip out when I called you Kylo Ren?”

“You shouldn’t have said that in front of her,” he warns.

“Does your mommy know what bad shit you’ve been up to, Ben?”

Black malice flickers across his face before he can shield it from me. He’s good, but not as good as he thinks. Not anymore.

“Why are you here?” he asks again. He maintains his stance, not making any threats, holding his warm hand lightly on my jaw, breathing slightly elevated as he searches my expression for the truth.

“Why do you care? You bring my money?” I throw back at him. He needs a reminder of what a lying, piece of shit human he is.

At the mention of money, something treacherous floods his expression, something I can’t identify but it terrifies me just a little.

He’s tall, but thanks to my uncomfortable six-inch heels, I am only a few inches shorter than he is. I keep my knife pressed against him, ready to filet him if he so much as blinks suspiciously…

“How much did my uncle offer to pay you for the chance to poke around inside your head?” he finally queries, caressing my chin and jaw with a beguiling tenderness that belies the glowing threat in his eyes.

I do not mistake his gentle tone for anything less than what it is: Full-blown, absolute menace.

He’s _furious_ with me, and I’m more than a little upset with him in return.

Well. Ben already thinks I’m a whore. I might as well try to piss him off, rattle him a bit. He’s easier to manage when he’s off-balance.

“Fifty million dollars, and that wasn’t _all_ he poked,” I lie spitefully, jabbing my blade into his rib just hard enough to remind him I’m armed.

Sure enough, his jaw clenches and his eyes tighten in fury at my answer. For a second, he looks like he wants to choke me. A tiny thread of fear snakes down my spine.

“Whore,” he breathes.

For some reason, that kind of hurts my feelings.

I lash out. “You’re the bastard who keeps trying to fuck a whore. What does that make you?”

He’s holding my chin again and has another arm curved around me and my words startle a bark of mirthless laughter out of him, jarring me. I can see nothing but rage and raw desire in the tense line of his shoulders and attentively tilted head.

Desire.

He _wants_ me.

My lips part slightly at the unexpected realization the feeling is mutual. He comprehends at the same time and his eyes darken to glittering obsidian.

He clutches my head, grasping at me desperately as his mouth slams down onto mine.

I _hate_ him, but I can’t seem to hold onto that thought as I brace a palm against his broad chest and tighten my grip on my knife and kiss him back with everything I have.

Because, goddamn, he can kiss like nobody’s business.

_And he tastes good._

His tongue slides against mine, hot and wet, and he skims his fingers through my hair, seeking, loosening the pins holding it in place. He finds my throwing knives one by one and drops them to the floor.

Which is fine, since I’ve just slid my palm under his jacket and found a holster and a gun.

His lush mouth sucks and pulls at mine as I slide open the clip release one-handed and drop the empty gun to land next to my knives on the floor.

I’m sure he’s probably got a boot knife on him, too, and knowing him, probably also a syringe full of something nasty he won’t hesitate to use at the first opportunity…but I’ve got my knife under his ribs and right now...I don't find any other weapons...

I run my hand over the bulge in his pants just to be absolutely sure. He’s…definitely, um, armed and ready…

He groans into my mouth and I melt against him, all thoughts of disarming him put aside for the moment.

Because right now his mouth tastes too good and his body feels too _right_ and I’m fucking wet and I _want_ him.

A soft grunt of acknowledgement rumbles from him and his hands sweep along my neck, lightly squeezing before skating around my naked back.

He presses his splayed hands firmly against my spine, pushing the bulge of his crotch against me, a deliberate indication of lust.

I feel an answering tug of pure want, deep in my belly, and I open my mouth, so he can plunder it as he wishes. And, this is a fucking _pillage_. He brings a full assault of lips and tongue and just the faintest scratch of whiskers against my mouth, shrinking my entire universe down to one thing, one thought: _Isn’t this delicious?_

His kiss just kind of _demolishes_ me, devastating any resistance I might have, tongue teasing against mine with all the expertise of a man who knows _exactly_ what I need.

I sweep my hand along the back of his trousers, ostensibly checking for weapons, but maybe also to clutch at the firm muscles of his butt and wordlessly encourage him to grind his hips against mine again.

He senses it and he pushes against me again. His dick is definitely getting big and hard. I can feel every inch of it pressed against my belly.

His hands roam freely over my exposed skin before sliding into the back of my dress.

_Damn. I think he found my push dagger._

I hear it clunk to the floor and Ben, still kissing me voraciously, walks us back to the bed.

Desire collides into me hard as I realize his intent and feel his unmistakable arousal pressed insistently against me.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he grunts, licking a hot path across my jaw to my ear. Shivering warmth spills into my veins as his mouth tugs delicately at my earlobe.

He kneads my backside and bends me back to recapture my mouth in a ravenous kiss that turns my knees into jelly.

“Shit,” I gasp, burning alive under the very talented flick of his tongue along my collarbone.

I plunge my free hand into his silky dark hair, clutching at him for balance.

I sink my teeth into the side of his neck and suck a mark into the hot skin under his jaw.

I want his tux _off_. _Now_. I yank the lapel of his jacket and push the sleeve halfway down his arm, but I have to keep my knife trained on him, because this asshole is definitely disarming me and trying to distract me, I think.

I’m doing a crappy job of undressing him. He gets it, though, and shrugs out of his jacket before he attacks my mouth again.

While he does his best to kiss the breath out of me, I slide my blade against the buttery-soft linen of his dress shirt, flicking it against the buttons until the shirt gapes slightly. He cups my breasts through my gown and my nipples harden into tight peaks. He groans into my mouth, and the sound drives me just a little crazy.

I pull away from his kiss long enough to pull at the bowtie around his neck, unwrapping him like he’s a big, hot, horny present, all for me.

_Yes. Much better._

I kiss him some more and angle myself so he can continue feeling me up, running his thumbs over my nipples until I’m practically _vibrating_ with need…

“Any other knives on you, baby?” he murmurs, sliding his hands back around me, under the back of my dress and into the crack of my ass.

 _Yeah, you missed one._ But he’ll have to figure that out for himself…

He pushes his hand down further and I feel his finger, thick and insistent, prodding between my legs from behind. I widen my stance a fraction so he can…

He kisses me again, furnace-hot, and the more I let him take, the hotter and wilder his tongue gets.

His hands smooth roughly over me, and I can feel him trying to get _everywhere_ , all at once. He wants more, and I want to let him have it…except…

“Just so we’re clear,” I gasp, pulling away from his kiss. “I still fucking hate you…”

I feel him sink his teeth into the crook of my neck – _he didn’t like hearing that_ – and a hot puff of breath whispers against me and his chest is shaking – _he’s laughing, the cocky piece of shit_ – and the sultry glide of his tongue over my flesh.

“Just so long as you know who fucking owns your ass, baby,” he taunts, jerking on my hair to force my head back. So he can see my reaction to his insulting little declaration.

What a fucking asshole.

My temper flares and I slap him hard across the face.

He shoves me back a step and I feel the bed hit the back of my legs.

“Bad. Girl,” he grits out, rubbing his face. Yes. He definitely looks like he wants to hurt me, now.

I whirl my blade into a better position for close-quarter slashing, rather than thrusting under a ribcage as it was positioned a second ago.

_Oh, shit._

Adrenaline starts pumping through my body as I take in his rekindled anger... I swear to God his eyes _burn_ as he scowls at me…

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to bite your _master_ , baby?”

He’s going to fucking kill me.

 _Shit_. I definitely should have stabbed him when I had the chance…

He steps forward, practically daring me to slice him to ribbons, nostrils flaring as he grips my arms hard enough to leave marks. He doesn’t seem to be at all concerned I’m holding a knife on him and I know how to use it.

I reposition my blade out of habit, but he simply laughs in my face, and ducks his head into the crook of my neck.

“Let’s just fuck it out before we kill each other.” The words hit my skin like fire and heated longing spreads into every pore of my body.

Before I have a chance to reply, he shoves me back onto the bed and crawls over me, hovering like a wolf over its kill, teeth bared. I notice he can’t bend one knee all the way…from where I got him with the chair. _He’s probably wearing a brace_ , I think. _Good._

I snicker at him and wonder what he’d do if I punch him in his injured shoulder…

He probably guesses what I’m thinking when my eyes linger a bit too long over the spot where I got him with my knife.

_Shit again._

His eyes smolder into mine, banked fire flaring to life as he roughly pulls up my gown, exposing my naked thighs except for the knife sheath attached to a garter…and the world’s tiniest black lace thong.

The tip of his tongue sweeps out to wet his bottom lip before he catches it between his teeth. He looks like he might start drooling…

His hair falls over his forehead and he frowns with concentration as he slowly grips my knife hand and drags it down, guiding me to slice my thong away.

Everything in the room blurs until the only thing I can focus on is him. Him pulling aside my now shredded underwear. Him hastily undoing his pants and shoving them down his hips.

Him pushing my thigh up, bending it at the knee until I’m spread out before him like a feast. Him gripping my knife hand and pinning it to my side as he uses his massive shoulders to wedge my thighs apart. 

Him pressing his face between my legs, breathing hotly against my skin until I - 

“You’re so wet,” he coos against my thigh, nudging at my pussy with his nose and grinning up at me like a naughty boy who knows damn well we shouldn’t be doing this. “Are you _sure_ you hate me, baby?”

And I _really_ _do_ hate him, except he’s sexy and his face is right fucking _there_ …and he’s right. I’m wet.

I flex my hips up, an invitation. What the hell? Why not?

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Without further ado, he releases my knife hand so he can stroke the soft skin of my inner thighs, my throbbing pussy, the crease of my butt. He buries his face between my legs, licking and sucking at me until my head thrashes back and forth…

His tongue swipes hungrily against my clit and I know I’m so wet I should be embarrassed. But damn, he does it again and I suddenly don’t care if I’m dripping all over the very expensive and tastefully made-up bed of Ben’s mother’s guest room while I let him lick my pussy.

He’s watching me from down there, moaning softly against me like he thinks I taste delicious and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to come just from the feral look in his eyes…

I have to bite down on my fist to keep myself from screaming…but an animal grunt rips out of me when his lips wrap around my swollen clit. His tongue flicks at it, one, two, three times, and then he starts sucking and I feel a blinding rush of pleasure so strong my hips buck into his face.

His fingers stroke me ruthlessly, and I’m getting dizzy from it as every fiber of my being focuses at the sweet, pulsing contractions coalescing between my legs.

He hums into me and I come, messy and ragged and wrecked, and before I can even catch my breath, he’s yanking my legs to sprawl over the edge of the bed.

I wrap my legs around his hips, and he braces his forearm next to my head, sweeping in for another ravenous kiss. The heat rolling off him is unbelievable. I try to open his dress shirt, but his holster is trapping it in place. I push up his undershirt so I can drag my fingernails lightly over his abs.

He’s hovering over me, bearing down on me, pushing my legs wide with a side-to-side roll of his hips, guiding the dripping head of his erection into me with this… _greedy_ look on his face…

He pushes in _hard_ , sinking that thick, hot dick into me as if he _does_ fucking own me…and _and and…ohhh, shit, I’m going to die it feels so good_ …

He pumps his hips, firm and slow, this possessive little half-smile playing around his lips as he gently fucks into me until I’m writhing beneath him, wanting more.

“More,” I beg finally.

“No,” he insists. “Not yet…”

He’s just bumping and grinding against me and I want friction and I fucking _need more_.

“Please. Ben, just…” I am going to lose my mind if he doesn’t…let me come. I need to get _fucked_. Hard. Now.

“Greedy bitch,” he whispers. “I just let you come five seconds ago…”

I don’t know what happened to the knife in my hand, but I don’t have it anymore. Because I’m pretty sure if I still had it, I’d have slit his throat for saying that…except now he’s shifting himself and holding my hips immobile so he can thrust into me as slowly and tortuously as he wants. Trying to make a point.

I feel anger spark in my chest and drag my nails over his lower back, clawing hard. I clench down on him, deliberately egging him on, trying to get him to lose control. 

“Ohhh, _damn_ , that isn’t very nice, _Scavenger_ ,” he leers at me, eyes flaring with dark fire. “I thought I taught you better manners than that.”

_…a little something called Jakku – designed to make you highly obedient, desirous of pleasing your master, that’s me…_

His hold on me tightens to a punishing grip and he rolls his hips into mine with agonizingly slow thrusts…

Apparently, he’s not going to fuck me properly. And he just reminded me about _Jakku_.

The prick. I’ll make him _feel_ me…

I claw at him again, trying to draw blood this time. He hisses in pain and his thrusting goes from disciplined to ferocious in point-five seconds.

He slams his hips into mine and hits me so deep I lose my breath. He does it again and a loud sob escapes my lips. He’s got me fucking pinned to the goddamn bed. He doesn’t withdraw for another thrust until he grapples for my wrists and pins them down, too.

“I thought I taught you…” He pulls out so slowly I swear I can feel the head of his dick dragging against me from the inside. “…how to be a _good_ little bitch…”

_…deep down, you will know, won’t you, Scavenger? We’ll both know who really owns you, yes?_

He’s paused halfway inside me, and it isn’t enough.

“I’m not your bitch anymore, you bastard,” I assert, clenching my pussy around him as hard as I can. He flexes his hips and I can’t help but groan as he fills me up again.

“Oh, yes. Yes you are.” He fucking _smiles_ at me and it’s that same exact evil sneer from the first time we met.

We’re both panting hard.

“…and now…I’m going…to prove it…” he assures me.

His head lowers to mine and his lips latch on to my neck and he begins to pound into me much more forcefully than before. _Finally_.

“…that what you wanted?”

_Yes. Fuck yes. More._

“…is that what you wanted, Rey? Just _say_ it.”

_Mmmm….no. I’m not saying a damn thing…_

He pulls out and flips me over and I almost scream with frustration. I feel him peel my gown up and over my hips, exposing me to him.

“Spread your legs for me, _bitch_ ,” he coaxes, softly emphasizing the last word to make his point crystal clear.

I do it. I hate him, but I part my legs and stick my ass up.

I want him to finish this, first. And _then_ I’ll kill him…

He’s leaning against the bed, hovering over me, and I feel his hand slide into my hair, shoving my face into the mattress. I try to push against him, but he’s got a fistful of my hair and I don’t want to press my luck. I know how willing he is to rip it out of my head if he feels the need to...

He slides the head of his dick over my aching cunt and I _quiver_ in anticipation.

Damn it. He’s teasing me, dragging himself softly along my sensitized flesh, and he’s almost _there_ …just.

_Why won’t he just do it, already?_

“You’re acting so eager for it, baby. Are you telling me I can take whatever I want?” he scoffs.

“Yes…” I confess.

“Yes… _what_?” Dread and desire pool in my belly. I remember this tone. This voice will not be argued with.

Something’s changed, here, and I’m not sure what it is. I just know he expects a properly respectful answer and I’ll regret it if I don’t give it to him.

“Yes. Sir,” I finally reply with quiet finality.

“Say it,” he commands softly.

_I’m going to make sure I’m really in there…under your skin…so you don’t forget…_

“You can take whatever you want. Sir.”

He pulls my legs to hang half over the edge of the bed and lies on top of me, crushing me slightly as he wraps a hand…around my throat. He flexes it and I understand the threat. I feel teeth scraping against my shoulder.

“I _will_ take whatever I want…because you’re my little bitch, aren’t you?” he whispers against me.

I swallow nervously. I shouldn’t let him…I shouldn’t…

I lie very still until he shifts position, forcing me into a kneel, doggie-style. Oh, the irony is not lost on me, believe me.

He’s got both hands gripping my hips and I’m waiting so patiently but damn…

“Reach between your legs,” he mutters coldly. “Take hold of my cock.”

He pushes my head down so I can reach it. I can feel him, hard and pulsing against my hand. He inhales sharply when I touch him.

“Now,” he hisses, “put me inside you.”

My body trembles as I guide him into me with a ragged gasp…and he slides in on a punishingly slow stroke.

Oh, shit, I’m already so fucking close.

“That’s what you want?” he asks, pumping his hips until he’s hitting as deep as he can get.

“Yes,” I admit with a ragged whimper.

“Now. What are you?” he pants.

“Your bitch,” I moan.

He hums in agreement and fucks me harder in reward, shoving my head down into the mattress again until I’m gasping for air.

“And who owns this messy little cunt?” he snarls, yanking hard on my hair.

“You do…”

I can _feel_ him _owning_ me, really pounding that lesson home with every violent thrust of his cock.

He grips me hard enough to bruise and starts riding me. Relentlessly. Forcing helpless gasps and moans from me until those are the only sounds in my existence. That and the wet slap of our bodies coming together.

I’m so damn close…I just need to…

I’m thinking he is going to come soon by the little grunts he’s making, and what I really _want_ is some friction on my clit. I’m so _close_ to the most unbelievable orgasm…

“Can I touch my clit?” I beg.  My voice is husky with need. “Please?”

“Yes.”

I hurry to touch myself, rubbing myself in little circles that both relieve and intensify the excruciating pleasure…I feel myself beginning to ripple and flutter around him and he bites off a curse as he feels it, too.

He covers my mouth with his hand, because we both know I’m going to fucking _scream_ …

“Let go, baby,” he orders gruffly.

_Let go._

“Do it,” he snaps, “Come for me. _Now_.”

My body clutches and spasms around him with a mind-bendingly _obscene_ ache, milking him with tight, clenching contractions that rip a savage growl from his throat as I pant and scream into the hand gripping my face.

…and I sink into that swirling dark surrender as he grunts against me, pushing me headlong into the void, right before he joins me with a filthy groan and a wet, hot spurting I can feel deep inside.

I’m still gasping from the toe-curling orgasm, and he’s out of breath too, shifting slightly and pulling out so I can rest on all fours, while he hovers behind me, panting.

I want to look at him. I want to see if he is as wrecked as I am, but he says “Don’t fucking move” with such warning, I freeze.

“Ben?” I ask tentatively.

“Shhhhh,” he sooths quietly, briefly smoothing his palm over the curve of my waist.

My head hangs down as I try to get a grip on reality.

I wonder if he’s just feeling the same thing or what, when –

I feel the sting of a needle in my butt.

Sonofabitch had a syringe on him, after all. I fucking _knew_ it.

I still have a blade hidden in my cleavage, if only I’d had the sense to use it.

Too late now –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dear Reader Suzeraine - Hope you like your Pound Cake...XOXO!


	13. Layer Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a little while since the last update, friends, but oh, life has been a little crazy...
> 
> However!!! I've been layering in the details and I hope you enjoy this next piece of Cake, which will hopefully answer some questions and leave you hungry for more...
> 
> XOXO!!!

# Chapter Thirteen – Layer Cake

**_So. Where’s the kinkiest place you’ve ever done it, Rey?_ **

I stare at my computer screen for several minutes while I consider how best to answer that question. Not because I’m embarrassed. But because I’m rifling through my sexual history trying to figure out the most shocking thing.

_In a Sanican. With a stranger. Full anal. No lube._

_How about you?_

I wait a few minutes for him to reply and wonder if I’ve turned him off.

**_How about I show you, instead of telling you?_ **

_Okay..._

**_Stand up. And go to the bathroom mirror._ **

I go into the bathroom and look at my reflection. He is there, too, but only on the other side of the glass.

He smiles at me and a pleasant surge of anticipation lands somewhere in my belly.

I immediately like his reflection. He’s very handsome. Clean-cut, dark hair, dark eyes, very sexy. His mouth is gorgeous. Full, red lips that look like they exist for the sole purpose of eating pussy.

Oh, crap. I’m getting wet just looking at his damn reflection.

He’s very tall. I’m guessing six-three.

I like ‘em on the big side. Definitely.

My second reaction is a slight tinge of disloyalty to the  _other_  guy. I’m not sure who he is, I just know he’ll be furious with me for what I’m about to do…

Still though…

He tells me to strip off my pajamas. Pink and grey plaid pants, with a long-sleeved t-shirt for a top.

I want to, but I hesitate…

**_I’m waiting, Rey…_ **

Shit. He is waiting. He wants to look at me and I _really_ want to look at him.

I am holding my phone, I realize.

I hear a "ding" and I realize the other guy just now sent me a message.

Weird. I was just thinking about him…

Kylo. I remember his name is Kylo.

**Kylo: Hey, baby.**

I’m sure he doesn’t even know my name. He usually just calls me his little slut or some variation of that.

**Kylo: How’s your sweet little cunt today?**

I look to the reflection in the mirror.

His mouth moves, and the words appear on the screen of my phone.

**Kylo: You miss me?**

“Kylo,” I say. “Haven’t heard from you for a while. I’m busy...”

**Kylo: Doing what?**

He’s nosy. He always wants me to tell him where I am and what I’m up to. I decide to punish him for not messaging me for a while.

_I’m in the mirror. For a hook up._

**_Fuck. You better not let him fuck your ass._ **

**Kylo: That’s MY hole, baby.**

**_We’ve talked about this._ **

_Nothing you can do about it, stud._

_I’m already looking in the mirror._

That will piss him off. I shiver. I can’t help it. I feel defenseless. It’s alarming.

**Kylo: I _am_ going to fuck that hole, you little slut. And you are going to let me…**

_Fuck._  

**Kylo: Take off your clothes.**

**_Take off your clothes._ **

I strip off my pajama top.

_Here you go, babe._

_This is all you’re gonna get from me for a while, so enjoy._

_Now stroke that massive cock of yours and show me how much you cum._

I watch as he lowers his hand to the shadowy blackness of the mirror’s edge. I can’t see anything but his arm starts moving up and down. Slowly, then faster.

He is glaring at me. He looks angry. I get the feeling he doesn’t like me pushing him around, even though he does exactly what I tell him.

I admire his body…oh, fuck, his body is good. Like.  _Fantastic_.

He’s big – big hands, thick fingers – and he has dark hair. The line that trails from his abs to his groin is dark...

He’s got these massive, sculpted pecs and arms the size of pythons…

I glance at my phone.

**Kylo: You’re such a fucking cocktease.**

**Kylo: If I ever get my hands on you…**

I’m not worried. He can’t get to this side of the mirror. I know this like I know my own name. It is irrefutable fact. I can feel it in my bones, even though it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever...

I laugh out loud and slide my hand under the now-damp, silky fabric of my panties and start stroking my clit, dipping my finger into my slippery-wet pussy and rubbing until I feel the familiar sensation of tight, hot pleasure start to take hold.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,  _Kylo Ren,_ ” I tease.

**_Not everything you believe is real, you know…_ **

His eyes watch greedily as I –

**_…someday I’m going to make you pay for messing with me, you know that?_ **

Right before I come, my phone pings an alert.

An alert.

“Don’t stop _now_ , baby,” he breathes in my ear, pushing his hand into my pajama bottoms and replacing my fingers with his own.

“Kylo?”

I look in the mirror and see his reflection standing behind hers, shadowed and vague. I can see his hand inside her pants, moving obscenely as she writhes against him.

He pushes his other hand inside, pressing her back to his chest while he works her clit with one hand and fucks her with three fingers of the other and I think about his dick as he thrusts his fingers into me. Hard.

He bends me over the vanity right as I spasm around his fingers, grunting like an animal. He rips my pants down…

I lay there panting in the aftermath of my orgasm, sweaty and still frustratingly unfulfilled.

My mind tries to process the sensation of his huge warm body hovering behind mine, his hand dragging over my clit and swiping into my pussy…

“A filthy girl like you deserves to get fucked in a filthy place like this, don’t you think?” he growls hotly against my neck. He thrusts his fingers into me again.

“What kind of a dirty little whore lets herself get fucked in a mirror?”

I cry out and he yanks my hair back. Hard.

“Shut the fuck up, Rey. She’s going to hear us.”

He rubs my clit and another moan escapes unbidden from my lips. She is watching us, and I need to be quiet, but I can't.

The hand pulling my hair back lets go and wraps over my jaw before clamping down on my mouth.

“Fuck. I said _shut up_. Am I going to have to fucking gag you? Is that what you want?”

The shadow in the mirror stands behind her. He is watching, too.

The eyes in the mirror meet mine, glowing black with hate.

I freeze.

_No. This is wrong._

Something is wrong _wrong wrong_.

Vague alarm becomes full-blown panic as I realize he won’t stop. I can see in his eyes he won’t. Will never let me go. The bruising force of his forearm crushes around my windpipe and he isn’t letting up.

“Oh, you don’t want this?” he taunts, stroking the head of his erection down the crack of my ass before teasing it against the lips of my pussy.

“I’m not your bitch,” I tell him insistently, choking against the steely warmth of his unforgiving hold. The silky-soft hairs on his arm tickle lightly against my jaw.

“You don’t think so?” he grunts. “ _Mmmmm_ … _fuck_ …”

_You are nothing but what I tell you to be. You’re mine. You’ll be whatever the fuck I say, for as long as I say._

He rams into me with a wet slap, pushing until his hips are flush against my butt, and I choke again.

_I officially own you, as of right now._

This has happened before.

My phone pings an alert.

I keep my hips cocked up for him and try to stay braced in position, so he can fuck into me as hard as he wants.

I am whatever he needs me to be.

He smears his fingers up the crease of my ass and works one inside. I’m surprised at how good it feels, but I briefly remember Kylo telling me that hole is  _his_  and I shouldn’t…

“I’m Kylo. This hole is mine, bitch.”

I feel him push his dick inside and my body tenses at the intrusion.

He’s groaning and babbling nonsense words like “so good, so fucking tight, just like I fucking knew it would be” and sliding in so slowly, but so  _inevitably_  and I’m trying to relax, but Luke Skywalker is going to be  _fucking pissed_  about this, so I’ll just have to never tell him…

Kylo slides out again and reaches around to push his fingers into me, stroking my clit with his thumb while he fucks my ass. His other hand grips my hip so hard I know I’m going to have marks there. I feel his hot breath on the back of my neck and teeth scraping at my skin.

_Oh, you little slut…I knew you’d like it in the ass…_

I’m so full of him, and his dick and his fingers are thrusting and pushing and stretching me, and my second orgasm hits me so unexpectedly all I can do is shudder and whimper as he lets out a strangled groan and empties himself into me in rough spurts, his huge body quaking over mine, out of control as he gives me a few final pumps...

My legs are trembling now, and I lean on my forearms to catch my breath. 

Wrong. This is wrong. My phone pings an alert.

Frantic, I try to shuffle into a different position, but his hands are gripping me like bands of steel and I can’t move. I feel him slide out of me, a hot sticky mess trickling down my ass and thighs.

I turn my head to glare over my shoulder and demand he let me up, but I can only ask one question: “What was…what was yours? Your  _Motivating Factor_?”

He laughs cruelly and shakes his head at my ignorance.

_Revenge._

I’m stuck.

I’m stuck in that mirror and I can’t get out.

_Playing around with me was an exceedingly bad idea…and now? I think I’m going to play around with you…_

I watch myself from behind the glass, and I am trapped there in that mirror, the  _real_  me screaming to fucking _escape_.

_GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, REY. GET OUT._

_GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT –_

_Your reflection…she’s real…she just doesn’t know I’m trapped._

I’m imprisoned behind the glass and pounding my fist against it and she can only watch from the other side.

Something else is here with me.

I am not alone.

She raises a hand to the mirror and smiles gently, reassuring, but she doesn’t  _see_  the danger right behind me. She needs to use her eyes and fucking  _look_.

He’s here, too.

_Fucking look! Use your eyes!_

A dark shadow, huge and malevolent, stands behind me and cups my face as she stares placidly into my panicked eyes.

_One more time, and I’ll let you die._

I’m going to die, he’s coming for me, coming for me, and he’s going to…

“You need to let the past die. Kill it if you have to,” he sweeps a ravishing glace over her reflection, causing my entire body to heat with unwelcome desire. “Only then can you become what you were meant to be…”

I grow frantic with alarm. 

_Get away!_

But she doesn’t see him. I smash my fist against the glass as hard as I can, I need to break it and escape he’s going to –

I scream until my throat burns, hoping she can see...

_Abandon all hope._

The shadow’s black, soulless eyes bore into mine.

_No matter what happens at the end of this…You. Are. Going. To. Die._

She crumbles like a rag doll and the creature’s sinister gaze locks on me hungrily.

_You're next._

He pushes my face into the glass, until my breath fogs the mirror, my eyes wide with terror…

His red tongue flicks out against my shoulder.

“You’re not alone,” he rumbles brutally. “I’m here, too, now aren’t I?”

His tongue flicks out again, swiping at my skin, a searing wet stroke of fire hot enough to scar.

_I’m going to make sure I’m really in there…under your skin…so you don’t forget…_

He sinks his sharp teeth into my shoulder with a low-voiced growl.

“Where am I?” I sob, unable to move away.

“You're there. Your sanctuary? Hmm? A cave? You imagine an ocean? An island?” His eyes capture mine in the reflection… “I see it. Your safe little mental retreat?” 

He kisses my cheek, soft, pillowy lips caressing me so gently it makes me want to scream. Every hair on my body stands on end. “Not for long, sweetheart…”

“Why can’t I move?” I ask him. I am frozen in place, but I really need to break the mirror.

“I’m going to take you back to my place and have some real fun with you…make you _beg_ me for death.”

Break the mirror, Scavenger.

“…if you break for me…I really think we’ll have fun together. Don’t you?”

Break it.

Break.

“Where am I?” I cry again, pleading for answers.

“You’re my guest. Welcome to Hell.”

 

I am somewhere in a First Order training facility.

_Yes. I am awake. Am I?_

I must have fallen unconscious after he threw me down the stairs.

My ribs don’t hurt. My shoulder seems fine.

What happened?

My body aches, rather dully, but not as much as it should.

Have I been drugged? Given painkillers?

Everything is fuzzy.

How much time has passed? It feels like only a few hours, but…my ribs should be searing with pain, and…they feel just fine.

I’m lying on a sofa, I think. In a fancy office, from what I can tell. I see a chair and it makes me vaguely uneasy. It’s…just an anti-gravity type chair, but it has something attached to the headpiece. Like. I think my head is supposed to go in there. But I don’t want –

And I cannot move.

I’m not restrained, but I cannot seem to be able to command my arms or legs to move an inch.

_Oh, shit. What is this?_

_Where am I?_

Calm. Stay calm. You’ve trained for this.

“Comfortable?” the voice asks. It’s him. _Kylo_.

I lick my lips. I’m thirsty. Parched.

“No, sir,” I reply, and the words come out harshly, scraping against the back of my throat.

He’s close but I can’t move my head. I can barely form words.

“Where am I?” I croak.

I remember him kicking me in the ribs in a cell somewhere.

“You’re my guest,” he purrs. The satisfaction in his tone rakes down my raw nerve endings.

This is not good. Is it? I’m not sure.

He told me I could either come with him or get gang-banged again.

My shoulder was dislocated. And then… Wait. He reset it right before…

_Think._

He pushed me down the stairs. Why?

He dragged me here…I’m in a room with him. No windows. The same room from before?

I can’t move. Am I paralyzed?

No. I can feel everything. I just…can’t move.

“Don’t be afraid,” he remarks. “You can turn your head.”

Surprisingly, once he’s told me that, I realize I can indeed turn my head.

I look at him more fully.

He is no longer wearing the white button-down shirt I spit on.

He’s wearing a long-sleeved sweater, black or navy, I can’t tell in the dim light, but it clings to his pecs, and…is his hair longer?

Yes. It’s…inches longer.

He looks… _different_. More austere, cheekbones more pronounced, eyes full of shadows, a layer of haunted pain over the coldly glittering cruelty from before, when he…

He is near enough I catch a whiff of his cologne or hair product or whatever.

Fuck. He smells amazing.

I glance back to the chair.

He _did_ something to me.

But I have no idea…what…?

He crouches down next to me, pain-filled eyes creeping over my face, hungrily seeking, searching for something.

“You, Scavenger, are quite the little fighter…quite the little weapon…it’s damned inspiring, for all the trouble you’ve caused me over the course of your training.” He sounds calm, but I’m sensing an underlying anger. No. _Rage_.

He’s upset. Furious.

Is it because he had to come down and break me himself?

Is that what’s going to happen now? Or did it already happen?

Did I not do something right?

I have a moment of panic as I wonder if maybe I couldn’t be broken and he’s here to kill me. I am getting seriously ominous vibes.

But if he wanted me dead, he could just snap my neck.

And, I can’t move.

I am not…afraid, but neither am I feeling totally safe.

_Please. Don’t be angry with me._

“I…can’t remember anything…” I whisper. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“I know.”

“Why can’t I move?” I ask him.

“Because I haven’t given you permission, yet. You’ve been programmed with a little something called _Jakku_ – designed to make you highly obedient, desirous of pleasing your master, that’s me, and highly motivated by food…and praise.”

I gulp and try to process that. He’s talking and his description… makes me sound like a dog.

He caresses my cheek with the back of his finger, and I feel like he’s _just_ done this hours ago, but I know it’s been days…weeks, even, since he did that in that cell…no. It’s been longer than weeks.

The length of his hair tells me it’s been much longer than weeks…

“Until this morning, Jakku was your main functional program, overriding your core personality, which is, I must say impressively stubborn.” He’s talking and I need to listen.

“During the time you trained under Jakku, however, you did very well. This morning we reinstated your old core functions, now underlined with Jakku, obviously, since we can’t put you out into the real world with the personality of a whipped bitch…”

A whipped bitch? Part of me wants to rebel at the term. Doesn’t it? I don’t know.

“We’ve initiated stage one of your download process. _Jakku_ has been moved to sub-level, so it’s there, but only in your subconscious. And now I need to make sure it really…took.”

I am not sure I like the sound of that, either. But, he’s here. I’m not alone.

And I’m not dead. So that’s good...I think.

This is what I signed up for, though. I will wait until he tells me what to do next.

“You’re ready. Snoke wants you booted up with the final phases of Starkiller tomorrow. You will stay here under my personal supervision until it is time for the upload to avoid interference with the initial cloaking program.”

I try to nod, but I cannot move as I reply dutifully, “Yes, sir.” It makes sense for me to be sequestered from the others until boot-up tomorrow. They will want to keep me from being tempted to ask someone questions or see or hear something I shouldn’t.

If they’ve initiated stage one, then it explains why I don’t remember anything. They must do these things in phases, layering the code into my head so it interlocks in proper order.

If they were to try to dump everything in at the same time, I would develop schizophrenia, psychosis, and become highly aggressive and homicidal. A bad combination for someone with as much weapons training as I’ve likely been given.

I don’t know how much I've had, specifically. Should that worry me? It doesn’t…Everything is most likely just fine. Just fine.

I will stay here and wait until tomorrow. He will watch over me.

I can’t move, and I vaguely want to. I know _he_ was the one who broke me and programmed me, and I know the process must have involved some kind of physical contact, but I can’t remember it.

Other than an unclear _something_ between us…I’m not afraid of him. Maybe because of the Jakku protocol?

That must be it.

He continues, leaning his elbows into the sofa next to me, tenting his long fingers under his chin. I need to pay attention. “Uploading Starkiller is no joke. It’s twenty-eight hundred times the size of anything else we’ve put in your head…and it’s going to be…brutally painful.”

I accept this statement as logically and calmly as I can. He is not trying to frighten me. And I’m sure this has been explained to me before.

It is what I’d been training for before he came to me in that cell.

“When Starkiller is implanted, you will have no memory of this day or of anything you’ve done or learned here. Everything prior to the First Order will remain in place as part of your cover: The orphanage, crappy childhood, abusive foster dad, all of it. The time you spent here will be overwritten with another cloaking code, and you will simply believe you are a college student studying cyber-cryptography. We have established a residence and a cover for you, transcripts, documents, and the like. You’ll receive a college education as part of the cloaking program, so you will be able to blend in successfully with your so-called peers.”

He’s watching me like he’s waiting for me to answer, so I reply, “Yes, sir.”

“While you and everyone around you will believe yourself to be otherwise, Starkiller will be in your head, hopefully using your neural pathways to write and integrate the final part of its code.”

Starkiller is an AI program so advanced the execution code cannot be scripted by a computer; the idea is that it gets booted into my head and runs as a background program, to finish writing itself using AI to complete the script.

However, Starkiller must run as a background program only; _any_ waking reminders of what is happening will basically drive me insane and the First Order will have to find someone else for their project. Oh, and the program will be rendered useless, so they will probably kill me.

Basically, I can’t have anything reminding me I’m a human supercomputer.

The safest way to assure this happens without any mnemonic or other kind of reference to the AI coding phase is to put me to “sleep” in some kind of mundane cover…

And then…when the program is complete, I will be…what I am meant to be.

“During your sleep phase, I will have my own cover to maintain and will not be able to easily intersect our paths, so I will need you to come to me the instant I call for you.”

 _He must be a high-profile person, easily recognized by the media or the public_ , I surmise.

“Phasma will be your roommate until we are sure you’ve taken Starkiller fully and the programming isn’t going to glitch.”

_How do we know if there’s a glitch?_

“You will know there is a glitch because you will go insane and then you will die.”

_Either way at the end of this, you’re going to die…_

He notices my expression and cocks his head. He holds up a cell phone, so I can see it, then stands and sets it on the corner of his desk.

“This is the best way I’ll be able to reach you directly, so don’t forget to take it with you when you leave, and don’t lose it. When you wake up after tomorrow's download, you will have no memory of this facility, of your training, or of who I _really_ am. I will keep track of you via a…dating app on your phone. Until you are told otherwise, you’ll be just some slutty college student, getting her kicks while she waits for her student visa to expire…”

He squats down again next to where I lie on the sofa.

“But deep down, you _will_ know, won’t you, Scavenger? We’ll both know who really owns you, yes?”

“You? Sir?” I reply tentatively. Suddenly I can’t breathe.

He hums and nods agreeably and my skin crawls with anticipation.

“Yes, exactly. So, while you are here tonight, I’m going to make sure I’m _really_ in there…under your skin…so you don’t forget…”

 

**Present Day –**

When I wake up for real this time, I realize I’m lying on a bed. I am gasping for breath as I try to grip reality.

I was dreaming. And remembering. 

Now I'm awake. This is real. This is now.

The sting of the needle in my butt is the last thing I remember feeling. It’s been hours or days. I have no idea.

This place is familiar. I’ve been here before. Recently.

_Mitaka, change of plans._

Ben’s Penthouse?

I can’t move.

_I don’t need restraints._

“Rey?” His voice is soft and calm and deadly serious. “You awake sweetheart?”

He’s here. Sitting next to the bed.

He looks…haggard. He is still wearing his tux with the dress-shirt I mutilated right before he –

“Why am I here?” I whisper. My voice is scratchy. “Why haven’t you taken me back to the First Order, yet?”

“I need you to listen to me.” He’s…upset.

I instinctively want to argue with him. But something in his eyes stills me.

“Who is Kylo Ren?” I ask. “And why did your mother flip out when she heard me mention him?”

Ben sighs, heavily. He licks his lips and he looks like he is trying to prepare an answer.

“Just tell me. Please. Who is Kylo Ren?”

Finally, finally he answers. But when he does, it only makes my heart pound harder and dread spill down my spine in an icy-hot trickle.

“Kylo isn’t a ‘him’. She was my twin sister. Her name was Skylar Anne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaayyyy. I know that was confusing as hell. And I wanted to be, believe me. Yes. As an author I made the decision to hold off a tiny bit longer for a full explanation. 
> 
> Because. For reasons. 
> 
> However...I can confirm that the first half of this chapter was a nightmare she had after he knocked her out with the syringe and most of the second half was her remembering First Order stuff.
> 
> Then she woke up and Ben is about to reveal...everything. 
> 
> So hang in there...


	14. Icing on The Cake

# Chapter Fourteen – Icing on the Cake

 

_Skylar. Anne._

It’s not ringing any bells. But he is looking at me with this…intense pain. He’s sad –

_catastrophic background program failure imminent_

Ben looks sad and worried. Confused. “I don’t understand. I already erased you. You should have been rebooting the cloaking code this whole time.”

“Why do you keep saying that? That you erased me?” It’s annoying. I don’t like it when he says that.

“When I messaged you, ages ago. The night before we met at that beer garden. I texted you the reboot codes. You should have been…it didn’t work. I don’t know why.”

Ah. That’s what that was, then.

I know why. Because I never read those messages.

I never got around to it.

I never read those last few messages from Kylo because Starkiller didn’t want me to, told me not to. Starkiller wasn’t quite done with me, yet, so I had to delay. Put him off the scent.

Luke told me what to do. I would need to listen to Poe when the time came.

_Starkiller is an AI program so advanced the execution code cannot be scripted by a computer; the idea is that it gets booted into your head and runs as a background program to finish writing itself using AI to complete the script._

And Starkiller is almost complete.

_catastrophic background program failure imminent_

But Alderaan killed the cloaking program before cannibalizing itself, weeks ago.

I have a very strong sense of déjà vu.

My breath catches. Something is almost there, on the brink of entering my mind. I can almost reach it…

He’s watching me.

“I never read your reboot codes.” No reason to lie about that.

He shakes his head. "Then you should be..." He sighs. 

I should be going insane, he means. I should be homicidal. 

The cloaking code was destroyed.

And Starkiller isn’t done, yet.

_Starkiller must run as a background program only; any waking reminders of what is happening will basically drive you insane._

_You can’t have anything reminding you that you are a human supercomputer._

Except I’m reminded. I’m reminded right fucking now.

Which means I am in extraordinary danger.

He's watching me, not sure if I'm a threat.

My entire game plan changes instantly as my brain reshuffles the deck for a re-deal.

New game, new rules, new everything.

_Execute mission._

I need to keep him busy, and I don’t need restraints.

He might think he is in charge here, but I am pretty sure I know how to get to Kylo, if not Ben. They’re the same fucking person, after all.

I need to think.

“Tell me about her. Your sister.” I keep my voice soft, gentle, the exact opposite of what I am, which is a very dangerous cornered animal.

I don’t know how else to explain it.

I just know I need a few more minutes.

_Distract him._

“I had a sister. Her name was Skylar Anne Organa Solo. I couldn’t pronounce it correctly when I was little. So, I called her _Kyloren_ … We were twins – twins run in my family – my mother, she’s Luke’s twin.” He looks up at me. “I didn’t know if you knew that?”

I shake my head. I’m listening to him, but something strange is happening as he speaks to me.

The strongest sense of _surreal_ , near-paralyzing paranoia is crawling along my skin. I don’t want to panic him, but something bad is happening…I can feel it.

I just need a minute to figure it out.

The human mind can perform calculations at rates beyond our rational capacity to understand.

Right now, I feel like I am doing all of them, all at once. It makes total sense, and it makes no sense whatsoever.

_Don’t fall, don’t fall. Do not fucking fall._

He appears to be lost in his explanation. I nod for him to continue.

“Anyhow, we were twins but total opposites…and the very best of friends. If she loved to draw, I loved to read and write. If she loved black, I loved white. If she liked to play outside and build forts…well, I preferred to stay indoors and build worlds in my mind.

Sky was…the only person who really understood me. Everyone adored her. She was the family pet, the favorite. Even I was okay with it. My father preferred Sky, for sure. I think Dad related to her more because she was always so _exuberant_ …so…I don’t know, alive? Wild? And I was the quiet one, which was I think disappointing to him…”

Kylo shakes his head, deep into his story, now. But I am nearly crawling out of my skin. Something’s dreadfully wrong.

_Do not black out, Rey._

Something’s coming. Goosebumps break across my skin and I quell an urge to shiver. My vision has become a tiny little pinpoint of light, a miniscule beam of consciousness I can see through the funeral shroud cloaking my waking mind.

Look at it.

Look at the light.

“Skylar…she would bring the outside world to me. And I like to think I taught her how to dream a little…

We were best friends, and everything was…kind of perfect. I mean, as perfect as it could be. I used to wish my Dad would pay more attention to me and that my mother would stop worrying so much about her damned politics – we had to be so _good_ all the time, you know? Mother was elected to Congress, but she kept our family life very private, very protected. There was always this fear someone would catch us doing something _wrong_ …that we would be caught in the act of being bad and it would hurt Mother’s career. She was angling to run for President at one point, did you know?”

I shake my head robotically. I neither know nor care about anything except following that stream of light.

“Tell me, Ben,” I ask Kylo. Keep him talking.

He’s lost in reverie, lost in his past.

“Mother was the star of the show, and that was fine with the rest of us. Uncle Luke would come around every now and then with a bunch of mysterious talk about continuing his father’s scientific research…things were good, for the most part though, until…we were eighteen.

I remember the night it happened. I can’t forget it. My uncle…he says it was an accident.

Luke and Skylar were always going off talking. She was getting more and more into Luke’s research. They’d been plotting something, but they’d been keeping it secret.

Luke, you see. This all goes back to Luke. He was obsessed with his father’s work. Before Skylar died, he swore he’d found a way to enhance grandfather’s mind control program beyond anything previously known. He found a breakthrough.

Mother and Dad were interested, but they cared more about getting in on the government contracts than the actual work and what it meant. What it could mean.

Luke said something about needing one last piece to test it, to make it work. Skylar was interested, I could see it in her eyes. I tried to talk to her about it, but she wouldn’t listen. Or she’d laugh at me. I tried to tell her I had a bad feeling about it, but she said Luke needed someone and she wanted to be part of it…I tried to talk to Luke, but he would just smile and metaphorically pat me on the head and tell me someday I would understand – poor, stupid Ben, what did he know?

Skylar stopped talking to me, stopped sharing what they were up to. Said she had to keep everything super top secret because Luke was paranoid as fuck about spies.

So, who better to test his little experiments on than his own flesh and blood?

One night, she went with him…and she never came back.

Luke told everyone it was an accident and my parents believed it…

My father helped downplay her death to the point she was an afterthought within months. It was like...she'd never existed. There was a tiny funeral. Just us. No obituary. No nothing. 

That was bad. But it wasn’t the worst. The worst was how my parents tried to cover everything up. The scandal would have destroyed my mother’s career, not to mention the money, you see? If it got out, they would have lost several major government contracts, and it was Luke’s fault, but it was the _family_ business.

Family couldn’t risk the scandal, you know? Couldn’t risk losing those contracts. It was always about the money.

They covered up the accident, and they stopped talking about her. My uncle went away and didn’t return for a long time.

My father started drinking just as heavily as mother did. And me? I was left to myself, set to go to university in the fall. I went because I couldn't live in that hellish place anymore. Too many reminders, too many secrets. And I didn't have anywhere else to go. I met Hux and things got a little better.”

My ears perk up at the mention of Hux.

Kylo is looking at me, but he takes my reaction as interest. I school my face into a mask of impassive curiosity.

Kylo continues, “I stopped visiting my family, didn’t want to be a part of their twisted money-grubbing lies.

Pretending Skylar had never existed…it was sick, what they did.

They had enough money to virtually erase her. And so they did. They did it to protect the _money_ , the contracts…they told me it was for my future, for the best.

I talked to Hux about it. We were best friends, we fooled around all the time, and he always made me feel…better. He told me he might have a way for me to get revenge, his father had a colleague who was into some ultra-secret shit…and that’s when he brought me to Snoke.”

Snoke. The First Order. I will destroy them.

Kylo is still talking. I let him.

“Hux’s father had been working with some high-tech stuff with the First Order. They’d managed to get their hands on a lot of my uncle’s work, a lot of my grandfather’s work. But the First Order found a way to fund their research legitimately, and they bumped my family out of the market for a lot of well-funded contracts. I was happy to donate everything I could – my grandmother’s trust fund was substantial and mine alone – Mother couldn’t touch it. I used my trust fund to help build the First Order, and made unimaginable amounts of money. I finished college and Hux went to med school. For a while, I…went a little wild…Couldn’t get my mind off my sister, though. Couldn’t ever get my mind over the fact Luke Skywalker never paid for what he did.

When Hux finished school, we decided to join the First Order in a more…involved capacity…

Luke always tried to justify his actions by claiming Sky had been eighteen and an adult, well aware of the risks when she agreed to participate in his little experiment. You were the same. Luke got to you first. Before you joined the First Order. You were eighteen. He liked using girls that age,” Kylo says bitterly. He’s looking at me sympathetically.

He feels sorry for me.

_cloaking program failed launch sequence_

“Luke got to me?” I prompt. “Before I joined the First Order? Before I signed up for Starkiller?”

I know damn well Luke got to me then, and then again a year ago, but Kylo doesn’t know I remember everything…

Soon.

“He planted a sleeper program in you and sent you to the First Order so you could spy for him. He never gave up the idea of being known as the father of mind control tech, even though the First Order has advanced things beyond what Luke could have ever done. We found Luke’s program on the third day you arrived. On a fluke. Snoke wanted you exterminated on the spot, but I argued to keep you alive. Thought you might come in handy if we could find a way to use you for counter-espionage against my uncle.”

I know.

“Your training went well, considering you were basically a ticking time bomb.”

“But…why all the torture and…?” I try to sound helplessly sad about it.

But there is nothing helpless about me right now. I am a weapon and he should be fucking terrified.

“The gang bangs?” he asks ruthlessly.

“Yeah.”

“We really had to make sure you could be broken. Make sure you weren’t a sociopath or just acting. We could see your reactions and that’s when I knew you could be Starkiller. It was enough to keep Snoke from killing you."

Yes. His weapon. His spy.

I remember.

“We had to erase everything when we recruited you. Waited a year before I felt you were ready, although Snoke wanted to wait even longer. He was still on the fence about you. Breaking you at the time I did was my decision. If I’d waited for Snoke to do it…there was too high a probability you would have died. There’s a reason why they call Snoke the Finalizer. And Hux had already been showing signs of wavering in his resolve. He didn’t think the end justified the means.

So, I lied to Snoke and told him we didn’t have a choice…Luke had long since disappeared, and you were my only link to him. I knew when Luke had sent you to us he'd come looking again, eventually. I knew I could use you to lure Luke out of whatever hole he’d crawled into. Planting Starkiller in you would be tempting enough for my uncle to come sniffing again, eventually. Which he did. A year ago, when he planted Alderaan and Endor on you, he played right into my hands.

And now it’s time to finish what he started.”

He looks haggard. Tortured.

I try to muster some sympathy for him, but a warm awareness of something else is spilling into my veins like fucking rocket fuel, and I am concentrating so hard not to itch at my arms like a drug addict, not to tear at my skin because something is fucking _under_ it…something’s there.

Something is there.

_INITIATE STARKILLER BOOT SEQUENCE?_

Y/N?

_Yes._

I know. I know everything, and he can’t fucking see it, the knowledge in my eyes. 

If he knew what was awakening inside my head right now, he’d run. He’d run far, far away from me.

I am a real, live monster.

He should.

Run.

Something is here.

A shadow behind the glass.

A crack in the mirror.

The veil between thought and action is a thinner, more permeable shroud than we might realize.

It just takes one little poke to make a hole.

Or a crack.

I touch it and it splits, so I pry it open with my bare fingers, uncaring of the sharp edges because now I can see more and more and more…

A crack is _better broken shattered_ and when I look through to the other side…I can see fucking everything.

All of it.

I am capable of doing things I never thought possible.

I am. Awake.

My blood is churning and boiling and eroding and alive and _I am awake_.

_Oh. Fuck. I’m…so much more powerful than he could ever be._

Kylo has stopped talking and he’s looking at me. I blink back at him and hold myself relaxed and reclined on the pillows, a picture of submissive calm.

I want to cackle and jitter and sneer and fuck him bloody and snap his neck with a twist of my hands – I could do it so easily, he’s _way_ too close to me. He is nothing but a trusting fool who will be dead soon.

I’ll take his motherfucking eyes, I swear to God, I’ll fucking do it. Soon, and he has no idea how dangerous I am – an angel of death – and I will do it, I will.

I will do it soon enough, but I need him first.

_Just a little longer._

AWAITING INPUT COMMAND KEY_

I close my eyes and pretend to be exhausted but I’m vibrating with awareness, every cell in my body is alive with it, and it’s fucking _godlike_ , roaring in my ears like the endless sea.

I listen with half an ear and lie on the bed, testing the extent of my…consciousness.

I have opened Pandora’s box, and I am unbound.

They should have put me down when they had the chance.

I am mass destruction.

I am…Starkiller. And I am going to strip him down to his soul and break him into a million little pieces.

“You…weren’t supposed to remember,” he vows. “Rey…everything that happened…it’s supposed to be _gone_.”

Nothing’s ever really gone.

I can remember everything. All of it.

Luke killed the cloaking program. With Alderaan. Starkiller wasn’t quite done when Kylo came for me all those weeks ago.

Kylo and Snoke thought I was broken, and I needed to be fixed or put down, but he’d tripped a memory with his stupid phone sex.

Not broken. Just waking up.

Kylo said if I remembered anything before Starkiller finished writing itself I would go insane and die.

But I’m not insane. And I’m not going to die.

Not me. Oh, no. Not me.

Luke’s little tripwire just woke me up the rest of the way. Single use only, like a matchstick or a condom.

And once it’s spent…

Actually, think of a fuse.

You can strike it once, and then it starts almost instantly burning to the end before you can stop it.

It’s the pin pulled from a grenade, a bullet that’s been fired, unstoppable once in motion.

It can’t be salvaged.

And the damage it causes…also unstoppable.

Alderaan. A tripwire in my mind. I can remember _EVERY_ thing, and logic is supposed to tell me it’s only a matter of time before I become unstable.

I don’t feel unstable, though.

Starkiller is almost done…just another minute. It’s a calculated risk to trust I’m _not_ going to go insane and homicidal. I need to trust myself and nobody else.

I feel pretty normal, I feel okay, other than my overwhelming urge to wipe out the First Order.

The First Order. _don’t think don’t think don’t think_

I immediately want to tear the place apart with my bare hands.

They are lucky I’m not there. They are lucky I’m not…myself.

Kylo is watching me. Evaluating.

Something feels wrong. Bad. Dangerous.

It’s me.

I’m not…myself. And yet, I’m more than I’ve ever been before.

His phone buzzes an alert.

An alert.

_Incoming transmission. Wake up Starkiller._

He stands and answers his phone in the hallway just outside. I can hear him.

I lie still.

I lie.

_“She’s fucking awake, and I think she is remembering shit she’s not supposed to fucking remember! We are less than twenty-four hours away from catastrophic program failure and I won’t be able to stop Starkiller once she’s become…self-aware…”_

Too late, Kylo.

A pause.

_“I don’t think she is, yet. She’s still…”_

He pokes his head around the cracked door and glances at me, and I remain impassive, despite my whirling thoughts spreading my new consciousness into every pore of my body.

Not yet. Wait for your moment.

_“…she will if I don’t get my hands on Luke Skywalker or at least Poe Dameron.”_

Luke Skywalker.

I remember. I remember him talking to me a year ago when he offered to un-fuck my head. He made me remember and then he made me forget again.

I was in a chair, like the one in Kylo’s quarters at the First Order…

Luke asked quietly, “Why is he doing this?”

_Revenge._

“Money, sir.”

“He told you he...broke?”

“Yes.”

“He told you who? Who broke him?”

_I don’t know._

A calculated risk.

_No._

“Yes.”

Pause.

“Did he tell you what happened? The night he was…broken?”

_Yes._

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“He died, sir.”

“Did he tell you if he saw anyone when he…was dead?”

_Yes. [redacted]._

“No.”

“No, he didn’t tell you? Or no he didn’t see anyone?”

I didn’t know.

I would be whatever he needs me to be.

_A calculated risk._

“He told me. He didn’t see anyone.”

Luke _humphed_ and I wondered if he doubted me.

But.

He believed me. And that is what Kylo needed.

“One last question. What’s your motivating factor?”

_[redacted]._

_No, wait. Money._

“Revenge.”

A long pause.

“How much counterintelligence training have you undergone?”

I heard a whisper of movement and he stood before me. Master Luke.

Master.

I answered him honestly.

“One last thing. And then I’ll let you go back. Okay?”

“Yes, Master Luke…” Respect. He likes respect.

“…I need you to imagine an ocean. An island… You can smell it. You can _aaalmost_ _see_ it… do you see it?”

No.

“Yes, Master Luke.”

“Tell me what you see.”

Nothing. No one.

I’m stuck. But not for long.

I’m stuck in that mirror and I am going to get out.

I want to laugh and shake my head at Kylo’s ignorance.

Revenge.

Playing around with me was an exceedingly bad idea…and now? I think I’m going to play around with him…

I watch myself from behind the glass, and I am trapped there in that mirror, the real me screaming to fucking escape.

GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, REY. GET OUT.

GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUT – let it go…

_yeeeeesssssssssssssss_

My reflection…she’s real, she just needs a minute.

I’m imprisoned behind the glass and pounding my fist against it and I am going to fucking break it.

_Something else is here with me._

_I am not alone._

Kylo disconnects the call, and I don’t care who he was speaking to. It’s of no importance to me and my mission.

He comes back into the room looking resigned. Defeated.

Good. Beautiful. Perfect.

I love the sight of his handsome face drawn in agony almost as much as the taste of his blood on my tongue.

I’m going to seriously fuck up his shit.

I am going to send his ass to a whole new world of hurt.

Kylo removes his jacket and stands in front of his tall dresser, removing his cufflinks.

He should not turn his back on the most dangerous thing in the room.

Eyes on me, Kylo.

“Poe’s dead,” I tell him. He whirls around and watches me sharply.

“What did you just say?” His voice shakes. He’s afraid.

Fucking _delicious_.

“You just said you wanted Luke Skywalker or Poe, but Poe Dameron can’t be reached. Unless you can travel to the afterlife.”

I am not afraid when I look into his pretty eyes. He thinks he still has time to put me down, to stop me. To euthanize me like a rabid dog.

He is so wrong.

He is so _fucked_.

“Sweetheart, what did you do to Poe?” he asks quietly, his dark eyes combing over me. Looking for those sinking visual cues that the incredible danger he _feels_ is real and not a trick.

_Keep her calm. Keep her happy. Keep her distracted._

He talks himself out of trusting that primitive instinct.

A huge fucking mistake.

He should seriously consider running away.

“I killed him. Slit his throat after they dropped us off at the safehouse.”

“That was _weeks_ ago,” Kylo says cautiously. He’s too scared to run. Fuck. It’s gorgeous. That terror…

“Yes.”

Kylo swallows, and I can tell he’s nervous. “Dammit, baby, I…really wish you hadn’t done that…”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him as sincerely as I can. “It…was an accident.”

No, it wasn’t.

He’s falling for it, coming closer, standing right fucking next to me instead of running, not that it would do him any good. But I’m not sorry.

I’m not sorry, not even a little. Poe was getting suspicious, and I’d already taken what I needed out of him when I killed him – he triggered Alderaan for me, and that was all he was good for...

Luke told me ages ago…

And Poe was going to try to kill me before I could get to Leia, anyhow. I don’t know how I know this, but I felt it in my bones. Poe was a tool, my tool, and I used him and now he’s gone.

Kylo watches me like a raptor.

“Why did you kill him, sweetheart?” He’s shifting his stance, oh-so-casual. But I can read him like an open book, now. He’s moving to strike.

I smile.

It’s here.

This is not going to go the way he thinks.

I stay where I am. I look damn innocent. I look harmless.

I am not.

I’m so much stronger now,

M<D14///98j77yhgfyy6ffuyf6f7f7&^$^%^&^$jkgGgt&*7%*&g7878FLWE 9iue90 fnJ*((&^D*& nfklj aid7f8209 3572  mv*-ml+~mkl;z sejogtwpo‑_+_=-9-s0c8 n-90r8239084234jlskdfjwv9485723954u3 k

_CODE_ACCEPTED…………

...AWAITING INPUT COMMAND KEY_

_Input command [redacted]._

_COMMAND_COMPUTING|||

I am

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>reprocessing>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>…so much stronger than I was in that cabin.

“Rey?”

_Rey is not here right now._

“Starkiller?”

**_I am Starkiller_ **

Before he can jump me, I smile up at him and ask, “Where’s Hux?”

He freezes, horrified understanding dawning on his face like a bloody red sunrise.

“I don’t know, baby. Do you know?”

“Yes,” I purr. I killed him, too. He deserved it. I hate him. “It was…a calculated risk…”

Kylo's eyes widen in terror when he realizes he’s too late.

I really do like that look on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, my loves, but I just HAD to get this out here because believe it or not, it's been on my mind for AGES. XOXO!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter [@beegood_amy](https://twitter.com/beegood_amy) for updates to my ever-growing smut collection and occasional tweets. XOXO!
> 
> My works, if you are interested:  
> [Little Animals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902718) (DARKFIC, SMUT, Read the Tags)  
> [Music To My Ears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15121106) (REBOOTING - Classical Music/Assassin AU)  
> [Every Which Way But Loose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742149) (A/B/O, drug lords & yachts, short WIP)  
> [Bad Neighbors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874359) (A/B/O, Enemies to lovers/cop/lawyer AU, COMPLETE!)  
> [Say It With Feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710287) (Funny, slow-burn Sugar Daddy AU, WIP)  
> [Smoke Gets In Your Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231210) (short WIP, stoners, smut)  
> [Cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457971) (Darkfic, thriller, WIP, almost done)  
> [Devil on the Dark Side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287023) (Modern Fairy Tale, WIP, almost done)  
> [Knotting Hill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17038721) (A/B/O WIP, will be picking up very soon)  
> [Special Order](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836562) (one-shot)  
> [GatorWestern](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502323) (Vampire/Horror WIP, almost done!)  
> [Freak Show](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1098873) (Circus AU, Comedy, one-shot series)


End file.
